I Sing Of The Knight
by Catherine Maya
Summary: Three young siblings, with a troubled past, are taken Below to ensure their safety. However, the past is haunting, and it seems to follow the children everywhere they go.
1. Part 1

Hello BATB fans/readers,

I just want to give you all a little heads up before you start reading. First of all, this story has multiple influences that informed it. First and foremost is the song Larissa's Lagoon by Idina Menzel. Here is a link to hear it; .com/watch?v=1ZNrod0iNxU . I highly reccomend listening to it. It really sets the tone of the character of Gwen and the story itself. Another is the episode of Law and Order: SVU called "Charisma". You do not have to watch it, however, it's a great episode, and if you haven't seen it, it's worth the watch. And finally, while I was writing this draft of the story, I was also reading The Mists of Avalon, which is about the Arthurian Legends. Its influence should be obvious.

Now, this is about the 3rd draft of this story that I started writing about 8years ago. I'm really hoping for some feedback. This story is up here tentatively, and I'd really like to hear what you guys have to say so that I can take it down and make adjustments as needed. So, please read and review!

Also, just to be fore-warned; this story contains heavy religious themes. It's not all good, it's not all bad. But, if you're easily offended, you may not want to read this. Just so you know.

Enjoy!

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><p><span>I Sing Of The Knight<span>

Catherine Maya

**Down in Larissa's Lagoon,**

**She sits by the light of the moon**

**She's hearing voices in her head**

**She must be strong**

**She must not give into their song**

**She's hearing voices in her head**

**But Larissa woke up one morning,**

**Singing "Hallelujah!"**

She was pretty, Gwen thought. Really pretty. She would even go as far as saying gorgeous. Not like movie star gorgeous. Like natural gorgeous.

Engaging, Gwen corrected herself. She was engaging. She had these piercing eyes that looked like they could take or give life with a glance. She had this long, layered hair that framed her like a shawl. It gave her an old, otherworldly look. Like someone out of a dream. She had this glow about her, like if you were close enough to her to be a part of her light, you would be wrapped in warmth and strength.

The longer Gwen starred at her, the more she wondered; what was her name? Was she married? Did she have children? What did her voice sound like? Did she always dress so professionally, or did she have a completely different style at home? What did her home look like? Was she a neat-freak? Or did she just throw things everywhere? Did she always move so swiftly, with such purpose? Was she as focused and dedicated in the rest of her life as she was here? What did 'the rest of her life' entail?

"State your name, please." The bailiff instructed routinely, and Gwen jumped.

"Huh?" Gwen reluctantly found the bailiff's dark, kind face.

"Your name, honey," he reminded her in a low tone, and then continued in his normal, presentational voice. "State your full name for the court."

"Um... Guinevere Ann Maillar." Gwen glanced quickly at the woman as if such an engaging person may disappear in the blink of an eye.

The bailiff rambled on about telling the truth. Gwen only half-listened. She had heard the speech many times on television; on those cop shows. She was watching the engaging woman again.

"I do," Gwen answered him, still not listening, just knowing her cue to speak. Maybe the woman wasn't even real. Maybe she was seeing a ghost. Maybe she had died in that courtroom and her spirit haunted it, coming to every trial as if she were still alive and well.

"Gwen? May I call you Gwen?" The man, from the table opposite the engaging woman, had gotten up and was walking towards her.

Again Gwen glanced toward the woman despite having to pay attention to this man. She shrugged. "Sure, I guess." Her voice was a little hoarse. She hadn't spoken all morning.

"Gwen, I need to ask you some very important questions." Besides the patronizing tone of voice, the man had turned away loftily and seemed to no longer be speaking to her, but to everyone else. Gwen squeezed her lips tight in annoyance. "Do you think you can answer them truthfully?"

"Yes," Gwen croaked, her throat terribly dry. She was suddenly horrified that the engaging woman had heard that odd tone. She glanced at her again. The woman was watching _her_ now, and she smiled when their gazes met. Gwen blushed bright red.

"Gwen," the man paced in front of her view of the woman, "can you point to your daddy for me?"

Gwen rolled her eyes toward the man, and she saw the woman put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. With confidence now, Gwen smirked at him. "I dunno. Can you talk to me like I'm twelve and not five?"

The whole of the courtroom chuckled softly, many stifling their laughter with their hands. But, Gwen only heard the woman snort quietly, her hand clutching her mouth even more feverishly as she began to scribble notes on the legal pad in front of her.

"Okay," the man was chuckling also, "fair enough. Would you point out your dad for me?" he asked in a somewhat less condescending voice.

"I can't," Gwen shook her head. "I don't know my real dad." The woman was gazing intently at her now, and Gwen felt weighed down by her stare.

"You're very clever, Gwen," the man conceited. "Would you point out your step-father for us, then?"

"There," Gwen pointed to the calm, familiar face of Jack Hoffman, "at the table."

"How long has Jack Hoffman been a part of your family, Gwen?"

"Since I was about eight. He just lived with us for a while. He married my mom when I was nine."

"You have two siblings, don't you?"

"Yeah," Gwen glanced at the woman; she had begun taking notes again.

"What are their names and ages?"

"Mora's thirteen. Arthur's ten."

"So, you're the middle child. That must be difficult for you."

Gwen shrugged. "It's okay. I'm used to it by now." The woman smiled as some people in the courtroom chuckled again.

"Your mother, before she met Jack Hoffman, was working three jobs to support all of you, is that correct?" He wasn't speaking to Gwen anymore, he had turned away again and was talking to the rest of the courtroom.

Gwen sighed, annoyed that he wouldn't look at her. "Yes."

"Well, surely that was difficult for you and your siblings. Your mother was never home, always having to fend for yourselves."

"I managed," Gwen shrugged.

"_You_ managed?" the man repeated. The woman was watching Gwen still, but her hand seemed to be moving of its own accord, still scribbling notes. "Your brother and sister didn't help you? You didn't have a babysitter?"

"Well," Gwen shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "Mrs. Park lived next door, she looked in on us sometimes. Arthur was still too little to help much, and Mora..." Gwen's voice trailed off.

"Your sister is mentally handicapped," the man finished for her, facing the rows of jurors.

"She's autistic," Gwen challenged him with a look. She could have sworn she saw the corners of the woman's mouth twitch. But, by the time Gwen looked at her again, her face was buried in her legal pad.

"That's right; she's autistic," the man reconfirmed. "So you would be left with the care of your brother and sister for, God knows, sometimes _days_ at a time?"

Gwen's lips were pressed tightly together. She searched her brain for a single reason to not answer. The woman's eyes were now trained on the man and they seemed to be flashing with anger.

"Guinevere?"

"Yes," Gwen croaked out reluctantly.

"Could you tell the court how things changed when Jack Hoffman began living with you?"

"We moved." Gwen watched the woman scribble again. "Mom only worked one job. We started going to Jack's church every week."

"Mm-hm," the man interrupted her, "and there were considerably less men in and out of the house, I should think."

"Objection!" Before Gwen could think, the engaging woman was on her feet and speaking loudly. Gwen's eyes were riveted to her, and her heart pounded with the sudden excitement. "Immaterial!" The woman continued in a voice that Gwen was surprised and desperate to hear. "We are not here to judge Sarah Maillar's life! We ask that respect be shown for the poor woman! Not to mention her daughter!" The woman glanced at Gwen with something of sympathy.

"Your honor," the man spun around to the judge, quickly defending himself, "I am merely trying to establish the fact that home-life was considerably better once Jack Hoffman was a part of it."

"Well, Mr. Russell, try to make your point without insulting the girl, and her mother's memory," the judge glared hard at the man. "Sustained," he ruled.

"Thank you, your honor." The woman sat back down quietly.

"Withdrawn," the man continued with a lofty wave of his hand. "Gwen?"

Gwen jumped at the sound of her name, suddenly aware that the attention was focused back on her.

"Would you say that your life was better once Jack Hoffman moved in and married your mother?"

Gwen shrugged, "A little easier, I guess."

"Guinevere... how long ago did your mother pass away?"

Gwen shifted in her chair. She glanced up at the man who starred indifferently at her, waiting for an answer. She looked to the woman. She was watching Gwen with sympathetic and concerned eyes. Gwen starred back at the woman, unwavering. "About six months, five days, and ten hours ago." The woman's eyes went suddenly very sad, and then she fell into her notes again.

"Your mother meant a lot to you. " The man was speaking again.

"She was my mom," Gwen insisted incredulously.

"Of course," the man granted. "Gwen, what did your mother say to you and your siblings when she married Mr. Hoffman?"

"She said that Jack was our dad, no matter what, and we were supposed to treat him as such. She said, he would always be there for us if we treated him with the respect of a father."

"And did you always treat him with that kind of respect?"

Gwen felt suddenly held down, as if there were bricks of lead attached to her wrists and ankles. "I did my best."

"And was Jack Hoffman always there for you as your mother promised?"

Gwen glanced at Jack. Long legs bent under the table, his hands folded on top. He watched her with a calm, blank face. His milky brown eyes seemed to form a band around her, pulling her soul closer to him; to examine. His mid-length brown hair framed his face like a picture. He looked comfortable here, in the courtroom. He had faith, Gwen knew. 'Faith keeps the demons away.' Gwen looked at the man again. "He always took good care of us."

The man smiled, nodding and turned away from her. "No further questions. Your witness, Ms. Chandler," he mumbled as he passed the woman on the way to his seat.

Gwen's heart raced as the woman stood up, stacking her notes. 'Chandler,' Gwen repeated the name in her head. 'Chandler.' Married or maiden name? What was her first name? Gwen tried to arrange her face so that it didn't look quite so eager.

"Good morning, Gwen." Ms. Chandler looked up and smiled at her.

"Morning," Gwen mumbled nervously, her eyes locked on Ms. Chandler, unable to look away if she tried.

"Gwen," she paused for a breath, "do you want to go on living with Jack Hoffman?"

Gwen almost didn't hear the question. The face she found so engaging had a voice to match. It was passionate and alluring. She didn't want to answer, if only to allow Ms. Chandler's voice to fill the room uninterrupted. Finally, she shrugged. "I suppose."

"Suppose?" The woman walked toward her and Gwen held her breath. "You don't know? It seems a little odd to me that you; being so willing to comply with your mother's wishes, wouldn't be sure that you wanted to go back to your father. He's the only person you have left and you just 'suppose'?" Her voice was never harsh or commanding. It was a simple question asked of another person... logically.

Gwen smiled at her, conveying meaning in her eyes. "Not the _only_ person."

Ms. Chandler's smile spread across her face quickly, adoration in her eyes. "Your siblings. They mean a lot to you."

"I've always taken care of them," Gwen shrugged. "I guess they're kind of like my kids too."

"So mature at such a young age." Ms. Chandler moved back to her table. Gwen shifted nervously. Was she supposed to respond? She was elated when Ms. Chandler spoke again. "Gwen, I have your transcripts from your old Elementary School." Ms. Chandler held up a packet of paper. "It's very impressive," she flipped through the papers. "Top marks in English and Science. Teachers have raved about your dedication; not to mention your good nature, your willingness to help..." she dropped the packet on the table. "Gwen, do you like school?"

Gwen sank into her chair; for the first time, she was afraid of Ms. Chandler. She knew what was coming. She studied the woman before her, knowing that this woman would not ask her a straight question that she could deny. Ms. Chandler was going to come at her sideways, smiling, manipulating the truth out of her. "Yes," she answered quietly, her throat scratchy.

"Really?" Ms. Chandler's face turned to concern. "Because I went looking for your Middle School records, but I just couldn't find any. Nothing. Just a little memo that said," she pulled a sheet of paper out of a folder and read it aloud, " 'Step-father, Jack Hoffman, homeschooling.' "

"Objection! Irrelevant! What does Mr. Hoffman's homeschooling the children have to do with anything?" Jack's attorney was on his feet, speaking more passionately than he ever had to Gwen.

"Do you have a point, Ms. Chandler?" The judge sat forward.

"I would just like to know what the curriculum was for these children, your honor." Ms. Chandler sauntered back towards Gwen, her eyes fixed on the judge, and her heels clicking methodically. "Because I have found no record of it. Not one paper turned into the school to show what he had taught them."

"Your honor, what my client teaches his children is his own business."

"Actually, it isn't!" Ms. Chandler had made her way back to her table. "The law requires a waiver signed by the parent or guardian stating that he or she will give the school-"

"I am aware of what the waiver says, Ms. Chandler. But I still fail to grasp what you're getting at." The judge spoke calmly; the kind of voice that could easily put someone to sleep.

"Your honor, Guinevere Maillar is a smart little girl!" The woman spoke with such passion that the glow around her seemed to explode and illuminate the dark courtroom. "Top marks, dedicated, conscientious! She had friends, she was happy in school! So why did Jack Hoffman take her away from that? What was he teaching these children?" Ms. Chandler's attention re-focused on Gwen, and she finally saw how deadly the sea-green eyes could be. "Why did he ruin such a talented young girl?"

"Objection! Your honor, really..." Mr. Russell was on his feet, but the judge hushed him.

"I know. Ms. Chandler, you need to cool off. We'll adjourn for today, if Miss Maillar would come again tomorrow and indulge us." The judge smiled at Gwen, but she knew that it wasn't a sincere request. "And, Ms. Chandler, I'd like for you to keep two things in mind. One; any accusations you are preparing to make, _do not_ even think about voicing them in my court unless you have some solid evidence to show me. Two; you are not writing a mystery novel. In the future, please stick to the point you're making. Court adjourned."

* * *

><p>Catherine Chandler, coat thrown on her shoulders, and briefcase in hand, stormed out of the doors, barely noticing Joe following close.<p>

"Cathy! Cathy, what the hell...?"

"He did something to her, Joe. I know it! I can feel it!" She didn't stop, she didn't even care if he was still following her.

"Cath, don't make this into something it's not! Just stick to your facts. They're a strong enough defense to keep those kids out of his hands at least for another year."

Catherine spun on him, fire in her eyes. "That's not good enough!"

"Cathy, I know you're..." Joe followed her stare, which was no longer concentrated on him, but on the little huddle by the elevators.

"Stop it!" Gwen yelled, struggling with her foster mother over a jacket. "Just give it to me!"

"Honey, it's fine," her foster mother tried to reason. "Just let me help you."

"No! Let go! I can do it!" Gwen tugged harder on the light wind-breaker.

Catherine found a small blonde boy, not far from the group, leaned against the wall, playing with the zipper of his own coat. His mop of hair fell heavily in his eyes and he shook it away every few seconds or so. But, he paid no attention to the fight ensuing right next to him. He just watched the zipper go up and down. This, Catherine deduced, was ten-year-old Arthur.

"All right! All right!" The children's foster father stepped between Gwen and the foster mother and ripped the jacket away from both of them. "I will settle this. I'll do it."

The foster father approached a young girl, barely a step from the fight. Raven hair falling thick down her back, her eyes fixed on the string wrapped around her fingers. She also paid no attention to the fight just beside her. Her fingers worked themselves quickly around the string, weaving in and out. Finally, she pulled the string tight, revealing a Jacob's Ladder formation. She squealed, high-pitched and long. Her hands held the string tightly in its artistic form, and she stamped her feet on the floor, a smile clear through her tangle of wild hair. This was thirteen-year-old Morgaine; Gwen had called her Mora.

"Come here, sweetheart," the foster father took Mora's shoulders and spun her around to face him.

"No! Just leave her alone!" Gwen charged at him, grabbing a sleeve of the jacket.

"Gwen, just let me do it," the foster father argued. He managed to hold the jacket with one hand and took Mora's wrist with the other.

Mora, gaze unfocused on the floor, squirmed and whined, trying weakly to take back her hand. Her Cat's Cradle formation ruined, she began to cry loudly in the echoing space.

The foster father was startled just enough to give Gwen time to pull the jacket and Mora away from him. A few paces away, Gwen glared hard at him. "Don't touch her! Don't ever touch her!" She turned back to her wailing sister and pulled her chin up so that their eyes locked. Gwen brushed the tears away, her eyes never moving from Mora's. She gently took the string away and pulled the jacket around Mora's shoulders. "One black hole," she prompted, and Mora grinned and quickly slid her arm through the sleeve. "Two black holes." Mora squealed with delight and quickly stuffed her other arm into the other sleeve. Making a sound that was strangely like a drawn out laugh through her teeth, Mora watched her sister carefully. Slowly, steadily, with less precision than her sister, Gwen wrapped the string around her own fingers and held it out to Mora. The raven-haired girl clapped and quickly pulled the crossed strings out and around the formation. She took the string, now a new formation in her own hands. She starred at it, beaming, and frozen. Finally, Mora looked up and held her hands out to Gwen, who shook her head. "Time to go."

Mora made a dejected face and dropped her hands, the string now webbed only in one. She linked her free arm into Gwen's and leaned her head lazily on her sister's shoulder.

"Arthur!" Gwen called to her brother, and the boy dragged his feet to her side. His chin seemed glued to his chest, and his eyes never left his coat zipper. "Take my hand," Gwen instructed. Arthur glanced up, making a face at his sister. "Take. My. Hand," she insisted. Slowly the boy slipped his hand into hers, shuffling his feet slightly. "Stay close," Gwen suddenly grinned at him, a joke in her voice. "It's New York City out there."

Arthur tilted his head up to Gwen's, grinning, but trying to suppress it.

"Ready?" she asked more of her siblings than her foster parents, but turned slightly to include them. She didn't wait for an answer, she just began marching her siblings to the front door.

Unable to stop herself, Catherine took a step forward, closer to the children. Gwen caught sight of her and froze, giving her foster parents time to catch up. Catherine and Gwen locked eyes for a moment. Gwen's gaze was hard and unyielding. Catherine opened her mouth to say something, anything. But the twelve-year-old had rendered her speechless.

Mora snapped them out of their trance. She had taken hold of Gwen's shoulders and was using them as leverage to bounce up and down. Their foster father touched Mora's shoulder to still her, but Gwen grabbed her sister's arm and pulled her away from him.

The group made their way out the doors, Gwen glancing back to keep a wary eye on Catherine.

"Who's that?" Arthur whispered, much too loudly to be truly secretive.

"That's the lawyer," Gwen answered in a normal voice. "She's the one who questioned me today."

Catherine turned back to Joe once the children had disappeared into the New York City crowd. "You saw that, right? Please tell me you saw that!"

"What? She's protective of her siblings; all foster kids are!" Joe argued.

"No!" Catherine insisted. "She wouldn't let him touch her sister. Didn't you see that? Jack Hoffman did something to those girls, Joe. I can feel it! I'll see you at the office in a few hours." With that, she practically ran out the doors, waiving for a cab as soon as she reached the curb.

* * *

><p>Vincent looked up from his journal long before Catherine came running into the chamber. He smiled at her wind-swept hair, her red face, and her desperate cling to her briefcase. "There she is!" he spoke adoringly.<p>

"Hey!" She threw the briefcase on the bed and began stripping off her coat as fast as she could. "Did I miss dinner?"

Vincent nodded with a smile, "As usual."

Catherine froze, one arm still stuck in the coat. "No! Oh, Vincent, I'm sorry!" she chastised herself.

"Honestly, love, we've just gotten used to it," Vincent mused.

"I'm so sorry! I was all over the place, and I completely lost track of time. Then I got a nice, long lecture from Joe about court today. I had to pick up a couple of things from my apartment, and I swear there were a million messages on my machine." She stopped when Vincent had pulled her so close that she had fallen into his lap.

He wrapped one arm over her legs, and the other securely around her middle; his hand resting on her belly. "Welcome home," he whispered with a smile, his sapphire eyes fixed on her face.

Catherine took a deep breath and smiled back. She let the weight of her head fall; their foreheads now touching and their eyes so close that they'd go cross-eyed if they tried to focus. They kissed, softly, briefly for a few minutes, until Catherine's head rolled gently onto Vincent's shoulder.

"How was court?" he inquired with a voice that sounded more like a lullaby.

"Well... I cross-examined the middle girl, Gwen." She sighed into his chest. "I just... I'm sure it's just my hormones going crazy, but..." she sat up and looked in Vincent's face helplessly. "I just want to take her away. I want to bring her here and take away everything she is afraid to admit that this man did to her."

"It's not your hormones, Catherine." He stroked her arm soothingly. "This child is truly effecting you."

"She takes care of her older sister, who is mentally handicapped, and her younger brother, who has been very despondent through every interview. She's twelve-years-old, Vincent. Twelve!"

"And we've seen younger here who have seen horrible tragedies in their young lives. Catherine, you've cared for them, you've cried for them, yes. But, until these three children, I have never seen you so passionate and angry. These children have struck something in you."

"You know what that means," she smiled shyly and looked away.

Vincent quickly caught her chin and pulled her attention back to him. "Don't even think it!" he insisted. "You love children! And that is reason enough."

"I suppose." Catherine was tired and didn't particularly feel like arguing this infinitesimal point. "I need a bath," she sighed, and kissed him, quickly but passionately. She felt that familiar purr rumble through his chest and was smiling by the time she broke off the kiss. She slid off his lap, her hand still resting in his. "Join me?"

Vincent smiled back at her, hesitating, but also knowing that he was trapped by that promising kiss. "You're a wicked woman. You know that, don't you?"

She licked her lips seductively and watched him with dark eyes. "You worry too much."

"Said the spider to the fly," he joked.

"Come on," she laced her fingers into his and began to tug his willing form out of the chair. "My arms are sore. I'll need someone to wash my hair."

Vincent followed her, chuckling, and running his fingers through that sweet honey-colored hair that he adored.

* * *

><p>"Guinevere, do you understand why you're here today?" Ms. Chandler moved close to the witness stand. Such a kind face. How odd.<p>

"Neighbors called the cops," Gwen shrugged.

"Why?" Ms. Chandler was leaning her arm on the stand now and Gwen could smell the unique scent of her soap.

"We got a little too loud, I guess," Gwen shrugged again, smirking, and looked away.

"A little too loud doing what?" Ms. Chandler's voice had turned dark and foreboding.

Gwen bit her lip, and couldn't bring herself to look at the woman.

"I need you to answer the question, young lady." The judge leaned over his desk and seemed huge as he starred down at Gwen.

"We were arguing," she mumbled into her balled-up hands.

"Gwen, you are under oath, so I need you to tell me the truth," Ms. Chandler's voice was back to that soft, comforting tone. She shifted her position and blocked Jack from Gwen's sight. "Did it turn physical? Did Jack Hoffman ever hit you or your siblings?"

Gwen shrank back under Ms. Chandler's gaze. She searched for a way out, both from the question and the courtroom.

"Gwen," Ms. Chandler spoke only loud enough for the judge, the stenographer, and the girl. "You don't have to be afraid of him anymore."

With clear, calm eyes, Gwen looked at Ms. Chandler and projected as much defiance and anger as she could at the woman. "No. He never touched us that night," she answered clearly.

Ms. Chandler closed her eyes and sighed, and Gwen felt a surge of guilt knowing that she'd disappointed her. But the attorney foraged on, as they do. "Gwen, what was the argument about?"

"My mother just died!" Gwen yelled and everyone jumped, startled at the girl's mood shift. "We were all really angry! It happens!"

"Not always, Gwen!" Ms. Chandler started after her, and the girl sat back. "And certainly not to the extent of the police being called and the children being taken away to foster care. Something must have happened, Gwen."

"Nothing! Nothing happened! Jack takes care of us!" Gwen insisted.

"Then why were you taken away from him?" Ms. Chandler argued back and Gwen suddenly felt as if she were being questioned by a mother, not a lawyer. Certainly not her own mother, but someone's mother. Someone's nosey, unrelenting mother.

"Objection, your honor. Badgering." Mr. Russell stood lazily, and then sat back down.

"Sustained," the judge ruled. "Ms. Chandler, the witness says that nothing happened and unless you have proof to suggest otherwise, I suggest you take her word for it."

Counselor and witness starred, panting slightly, determined to dominate the other. Finally, Ms. Chandler lowered her eyes, succeeding to the ruling. "No further questions, your honor."

Munching on the last bit of her granola bar, Catherine and Joe rode the elevator down to the ground floor. Joe was rambling in her ear and she tried to look as though she were listening. He was upset about court, and rightly so; she shouldn't have pushed like that. Maybe she shouldn't have been given this case. She was getting too emotional. This would be her last court case for a few months. After the hearings were over, it was back to the desk. Vincent would be pleased. He hated how stressed she was while in court. She smiled, thinking about him. Oh, to be safe in his arms this second.

"I'm begging you, Cathy," Joe rambled on as the elevator doors opened, "just drop it. If you're right, the wound is too fresh. Let our facts keep the kids safe for now and maybe next year they'll be able to talk about it."

"This isn't like breaking a dish or lying, Joe!" They rounded the corner, headed toward to large glass doors. "These kids will never want to talk about this, it's too shameful, too personal. They..."

Joe nearly ran into Catherine. She had stopped and was staring at the cluster of people on the far side of the lobby. Joe followed her gaze and immediately set a warning hand on Catherine's shoulder.

But she shrugged it off, and charged toward the little group. "What the hell does he think he's doing?" she cursed under her breath. When she was close enough, she began catching snatches of conversation.

"Mr. Hoffman, you are not allowed to speak to the kids, all right? Just go," the foster father attempted to mediate. He stood between Gwen and Jack Hoffman, holding both off.

"They're my children, they need _my_ guidance." Jack was getting irritated, his fingers twitching, as if being physically held back.

"Jack, it's just for a couple more weeks, okay?" Gwen watched her step-father cautiously.

"Guinevere, please..." Jack stared at her sadly.

"Mr. Hoffman," the foster mother stepped in now, blocking Gwen, "the kids are off limits to you right now."

Jack was angry, read in the face, and almost visually seething. "_My_ children..." he began.

But Catherine was there now. She moved in front of Jack Hoffman, placing herself at the head of the argument, facing him head-on. "You need to walk away... _now_."

But he wasn't angry anymore. He was laughing now, strange and quiet. The laugh wasn't dark, eerie, or psychotic as Catherine had imagined it, but light and friendly. If this weren't so serious, if she weren't furious, his laugh would even have been infectious. "Who are you?" he finally asked. "Who are you to stand there and accuse me of anything?"

He laughed again, and Catherine held her hand out behind herself. The foster parents recognized the visual signal, and began backing the children away slowly. A step, then two, and then three.

Jack leaned into Catherine and she heard Gwen gasp, almost inaudibly, behind her. "I know who you are, Ms. Chandler. _What_ you are. There will be a reckoning one day, Ms. Chandler. And when that day comes..."

"Mr. Hoffman," Joe and a security officer appeared beside Catherine. The officer took Jack's elbow and backed him away from Catherine, leading him out. "I'm just going to get you a cab, Mr. Hoffman."

Catherine let out the air that she had subconsciously holding. She watched Jack move through the lobby, and shook her head when his lawyer found him and took over for the security guard.

"Cathy," Joe began, watching her closely, "that was just stupid."

But she didn't care, she had spun around to the little huddle behind her. "Are you okay?" She took note of each of them as they all nodded. The foster parents had ended up on either side of the children. Mora was cuddled close to her sister, her arms linked around the girl's waist. Arthur was tucked behind Gwen, his coat balled tightly in one of her hands, as if she had pulled him behind herself and held him there. Gwen watched Catherine with dagger-like eyes. She was angry and holding in the impulse to lash out at Catherine with every bit of strength in her. But there was an undercurrent of something else there. There was something that couldn't be named swimming in amongst the angry aura that Gwen projected.

Finally the foster parents had gained their footing again. They thanked Catherine and immediately herded the children out of the lobby.

"Joe," Catherine began in a quiet, apologetic tone. But he cut her off.

"No, Cathy! You need to go home and cool off! I mean, really cool off! And maybe I do too." He threw his coat on and stormed away from her. "I'll see you tomorrow," he mumbled as he passed.

She sighed, angry at herself now. She adjusted her scarf, switched the briefcase into the other hand, and made her way to the doors. Joe was right. She needed to go home.

* * *

><p>Catherine didn't wait for dark, nor did she bother to stop and drop off anything from work at her apartment. She just made a seamless transition from one world to another.<p>

Her feet made contact with the last wrung of the ladder, and she jumped the last half of a foot to the ground. She turned and was immediately enveloped in his arms. She sagged against him, held there lovingly and secure, and just breathed in the comforting combination of candlewax, musk, and him.

Vincent leaned down and kissed her urgently, drinking her in for a moment. When he broke away, he set his forehead against hers and breathed. His breath danced across her face. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, kissing him again, briefly.

"You were so frightened!" he whispered and held her closer.

"I'm all right." She buried her face in his neck and held him tighter. "I'm all right."

"Catherine..."

She smiled at the sound of her name on his lips. It was the most beautiful music she had ever heard. But she was shocked when he suddenly pulled away and looked at her with such concern.

"What were you thinking?" he almost yelled at her, and she was completely taken back.

"What?"

"What were you thinking just confronting him like that? You knew he was dangerous! Why didn't you just have someone else go, Catherine?" He had a hold of her shoulders, and was so frustrated, he was shaking her slightly.

She shrugged off his grip and took a step back. "He was try to get to the kids, Vincent! He was going after the children!"

"Why didn't you let someone else handle it? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" he fumed, beginning to pace now.

"He _will not_ get those children, Vincent! If it's the last thing I do!" she yelled at him.

"It may well be, Catherine! Don't you understand that? You have to stop this! You can't keep doing this; to either of us!"

"I won't abandon these children!"

"I'm not asking you to abandon them, Catherine!"

"Fine! You know what, fine! I'll just give up! Is that what you want? I'll quit my job, I'll walk out of court, it'll be declared a mis-trial, and the kids will go back to Jack Hoffman! How does that sound?"

"Catherine..."

"And in a year down the road when we're happy and cozy, we'll go out for a walk and find one, or maybe all three of them, dead in an alleyway somewhere! You're right, Vincent! I like this plan much better!"

He threw up his hands at her and turned away. "I can't talk to you like this."

"Vincent!" she stopped him in his tracks, red anger burning through the bond. "I am not the one who started this argument! Come back here and finish it!"

He turned slowly and watched her for a moment, so small and seemingly frail, but full of such power at the same time. Even when her was so angry with her, he was forced to admire everything about her. "I understand," he spoke slowly, quietly, with effort, "that you care very deeply for these children. I do! But this isn't just about you and I anymore, Catherine."

"I know that," she acknowledged, still seething, "but I can't just walk away."

He sighed, dropping his shoulders. "Then we must agree to disagree."

Dinner that night was conducted in tense silence. Catherine and Vincent spoke to others cordially, even carrying on short conversations here and there. But eventually the couple, who were usually the central part of conversation at dinner, had caused the whole community to fall eerily quiet. Occasionally someone would whisper to the person next to them, but they were quickly silent and stealing glances at the young couple through the whole meal.

Catherine glanced at Vincent, whose eyes never left his plate for the duration of the meal, and then glanced around at the rest of the quiet dinning chamber. She noticed all of them quickly averting their eyes; they had been stealing glances at her too. She politely excused herself from the table, feigning a weak stomach, and thanking William for the meal. She saw them all watch her leave the chamber and, once she was in the tunnel, rolled her eyes, knowing that they would be the talk of the tunnels for at least three days... again.

Vincent strolled into his chamber, his pace never changing even when he saw Catherine, on the bed, look up from her book. He hung his cloak on a random hook and began rolling up his sleeves. Catherine was pretending to not be watching him, and he knew it. It just made him more upset. Why did she insist on playing these games, even now? He went to the basin of water in the corner and splashed his face, running some of the water through his wild mane of hair to tame it somewhat.

"I didn't think you would stay tonight," he stated mildly. He pressed a towel to his face to soak up the excess water.

"Why?" her voice was strange. She was holding something back. "Where else would I go?"

"You're angry with me." He moved to the armoire, pushing clothing around in the drawers. "I just assumed you would be at your apartment by now."

"You want me to go? I'll go," she shrugged and was half-way off the bed before he turned around.

"Catherine, stop this, please!"

They watched each other in silence for a moment. Finally, Catherine, with raised eyebrows, folded her arms and sighed. "I don't know what you want, Vincent."

"Well, I don't want to fight!" he insisted.

"Well, I can't help that," she spoke calmly, hardly an emotional flicker. "You were the one who started it."

"Catherine," he began, now so amazed at her statement that he was almost at a loss for words, "do you not acknowledge that what you did today was utterly dangerous, and completely unnecessary?"

"Dangerous, yes. Unnecessary... absolutely not. And I would do it again, a thousand times."

"Catherine," he groaned, tired of fighting and ready to just have it over with.

"I can't, Vincent," there was that odd tone of voice again, like something stuck in her throat. "I can't just give up on them."

Suddenly she was sobbing and Vincent fumbled for a moment. He hadn't felt or seen that coming. He could only watch her for a moment, startled by such a drastic mood swing.

"I don't know... what it is." Tears were streaming unrelentingly now. "I just... I just... I can't." She was wrapped up in his arms again, crying against his chest.

"Is this how it's going to be?" he teased as he rocked her.

"I don't even... know why... I'm crying!" she sobbed, and he laughed, his eyes beginning to water also from such an intense emotion through the bond. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry that I frightened you today."

"It's all right," he rocked her still. "I understand why you did it, and I would have done the same. But, Catherine, if you must, do your heroics at night when I can still protect you!" they both laughed. He let her cry it out, which didn't take long, and soon they were just sitting in each other's arms.

"Vincent?" Catherine looked up at him, but her head never left his chest. "Are you tired?"

He smiled, figuring that he already knew where this was heading, "No, love."

"I'm not either," she sighed and was quiet a moment before she elaborated. "Let's go for a walk."

He was a little surprised, but nowhere near opposed. "That sounds nice."

* * *

><p>"Mora!" Gwen whispered harshly, the cold air biting at her vocal chords. "Mora!"<p>

"Gwen, let's just go!" Arthur mumbled, tugging on her arm. He looked around himself nervously. The predators this night were countless.

"Arthur, I swear, if you don't shut up right now, I will punch you in the face!" Gwen growled at him, holding firm to his sweaty hand.

"Gwen, I don't like it here! Let's go!" he urged.

"Not without Mora. Mora!" she called again. Central Park was silent, not even the wind in the trees.

"Please. I'm cold," Arthur dragged his feet.

"Get used to it!" she snapped. "Mora!" A twig snapped and Gwen pulled Arthur behind her.

"Please?" Arthur's voice quivered and he clung to his sister's coat. "Maybe... Gwen, maybe Jack... Gwen, do you remember what he said?" The boy was sobbing now, trying desperately to keep his voice low. "What if... what if they get us?"

"Shut up, Arthur!" She gripped his hand tighter and backed away from where the sound came from.

"They... they live in the shadows," Arthur mumbled, his tears gone, but a quiver still in his voice. "They know your name. They take you in the dead of night..."

"I swear, Arthur! One more word and I will duct tape your mouth shut, so help me God!" She pushed him backward a step to make it final. "Keep your eyes open! She could be anywhere."

"But what if they-"

"Shh!" Gwen yanked him behind a bush and pulled him down to the ground beside her. Voices were approaching; Gwen listened intently and Arthur was silent, tucking his head low. There was a deep, indistinguishable sound of a man's voice, and then a woman's light laugh. The voices were closer and Gwen began to be able to make out the conversation.

"... anytime."

The woman laughed again.

"Someday... and that's when... but only when you learn to keep out of those situations," the man insisted.

"I like them. They're challenging," she told him playfully.

"And dangerous. Listen..."

The pair stopped. Their voices were close, they couldn't be more than five feet from where the children huddled.

"You are everything to me! Don't you see? I can't live without you. Years ago, these... heroics were... just that; heroics. We can't be heroes anymore. Especially not when we're so close. When we have everything to lose."

"I..." she was apparently searching for words. Gwen knew that voice. "Vincent, I went to work at the D.A's to give myself to this city. I wanted to change the world. I wanted to help people. I _want_ to be a hero."

"And you have helped so many people, Ms. Assistant District Attorney Chandler," he teased.

Gwen's eyes shot wide open.

"So why should these kids be any different? Why should the next person after them be any different?"

"Because, Catherine, as much as we would all love to be able; you cannot save-"

"Everyone," they finished simultaneously.

Catherine made a small snorting sound and continued. "Even Superman couldn't save everyone, but he still tried when he saw someone in need."

"Who?"

"Superman," she chuckled again and continued. "The point is that these kids mean a lot to me and I can't explain why. I just... I _have_ to help them, Vincent."

"Then, please, from the sidelines, my love. For me." There was a silence and then a sweet low whisper, "Morgaine, Arthur, and Guinevere are lucky to have you, Catherine. Even if they don't know it yet."

Crouched behind the bush, the siblings hadn't heard past their names. To Gwen it only confirmed her suspicion; that was Ms. Chandler talking. But to Arthur, who was already paranoid and terrified, the sound of his name on the stranger's lips was shocking. He involuntarily gasped, and then began whimpering to Gwen.

"Did you hear? Did you hear that? They know our names, Gwen! They've taken Mora! Jack was right! Jack was right!"

Despite her best efforts to calm him, Gwen was forced to clamp a hand over his mouth and tell him to "shut up!" again. But the damage had been done. The couple beyond the bush had fallen silent.

"What is it?" Catherine asked. Her voice seemed closer.

"I can't tell," hardly any sound escaped from Vincent, but Gwen could feel him closing in. She did her best not to breathe while keeping a grip on Arthur.

"Vincent..." Catherine warned him. Gwen tilted her head curiously. Catherine's voice held just as much fear as Gwen's own heart. How odd; why was _she_ afraid?

It's New York City, Gwen rationalized. Any fear is well-founded. But still, her voice was strange, and it seemed to hold a thousand secrets that she was terrified to release.

"Vincent..." she warned the man again. There was suddenly audible contact between the couple. She must have grabbed him somehow. "Leave it," she suddenly pleaded. "Please, Vincent. I have a bad feeling. Let's go home."

Gwen held still for a moment and then peered through the bush. The couple was a few yards ahead, their pace quick and constant. She released Arthur, but he was paralyzed with fear and had fallen perfectly silent long before. "Come on!" Gwen grabbed her brother's hand and dragged him to his feet.

"Gwen!" Arthur bulked as he regained his senses and realized Gwen was leading him through Central Park, toward the fleeing pair. "Gwen! What about Mora?"

"Keep your eyes open for her still. Don't worry about where you're going, I'll lead you. Just look for Mora!" Gwen's eyes were riveted on Catherine and Vincent, proud of herself for gaining ground on them. Catherine half-skipped and moved quickly to keep up with her partner. This Vincent was quick, swift and agile; pulling and directing Catherine just as Gwen was leading Arthur, albeit less rough. For such a swift and smooth person, Vincent looked huge and bulky. Gwen marveled at him as she ran to keep up. This man was just as enigmatic and engaging as his companion.

"Gwen!" Arthur whimpered behind her.

"Shh! They'll hear you!" Gwen snapped in a whisper.

"Gwen! What if they really are just like Jack said? What if they took Mora?" he pleaded, purposefully dragging his feet.

"Then we're headed in the right direction! At least we'll have found her," Gwen shrugged, pulling him up a hill.

"Gwen..." Arthur whined.

"Arthur!" she stopped suddenly. "We won't leave without her!" Just as suddenly, they were running again.

They came over the hill, and Catherine and Vincent were gone. As if they had vanished, there was no hint or clue of them having been in the park at all. At the base of the hill, Gwen panted and surveyed the area for any sign of them. Nothing. Trees, scattered snow, another hill covered in dead grass, and a drainage tunnel was all she could see.

"Okay..." Arthur caught his breath, "can we go now?"

Gwen cursed and pushed unruly curls out of her face. "Where did they go?" she whispered to herself.

"Gwen, please! I'm cold... and I'm hungry. Maybe the Harrisons won't have noticed we left and we can sneak right back in," Arthur pleased.

"We are not going back!" she growled through clenched teeth. "And besides, no matter what we do, we can't do it without Mora."

"Gwen, please," Arthur pulled on her arm, but she didn't budge. "It's dark," he reluctantly whispered. "We're not supposed to be out in the dark, remember? They'll catch us Gwen!"

"Shhh!" she snapped at him suddenly. But he whined her name one more time, and she clamped her hand over his mouth again. "I mean it! Shut up!" she growled and then listened hard. "Do you hear that?"

Arthur didn't answer. Even if he had, she wouldn't have heard him; her focus was elsewhere. "It's coming from the tunnel."

With strong, determined steps, Gwen headed for the dark tunnel, but Arthur bulked and pulled. Not caring anymore, Gwen simply let go of her brother and left him where he stood. A few paces later she felt him grab a hold of her jacket, keeping close.

* * *

><p>"Ugh!" Catherine groaned, following Vincent closely. "I just want a bed! My kingdom for a bed!" she sighed dramatically.<p>

Vincent's arm encircled her suddenly. He pulled her around in front of him and held her against the bars of the gate. He leaned his face close, his unique lips barely brushing hers. "A bed, you say?"

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Catherine's lips skimmed his as they were pulled into a smile. She couldn't help but smile when he did this. He was so sweet and sexy, and almost dangerous, and she was putty in his hands. "Indeed, good sir," she played along. "I'm quite exhausted after such a foray." She faked a tiny yawn and stretched her arms out, then up and around his neck, drawing him even closer. "I can scarcely keep my eyes open."

"Really?" He watched her with sky blue eyes that were glowing smokier by the second. "That is very unfortunate, my dear lady," he appraised her body seductively with a mere flicker of his eyes. "I had something," he kissed her briefly, "quite magical in mind."

"Really?" She kissed him, a little more deeply this time. "It sounds tantalizing!" she teased, another, deeper kiss. She made to break it off, but Vincent held her there, teasing her, making her squirm with the warmth in her belly. And she was lost in him, in that powerful kiss once again. When she descended back to Earth, she smiled up at him again. "You are not allowed to speak to another woman. She would try to steal you in a heartbeat!"

Vincent blushed, but quickly came back with an innocent boyish look. "There are other women in the world?"

Catherine giggled and buried her face in his neck. She breathed heavily, truly praying that she would be able to stay awake. Make-up sex was always the best. And make-up sex with Vincent was other-worldly.

She was shaken when Vincent shifted and pulled away from her. She looked up and saw him searching the tunnel with every sense available to him. "What is it?" she whispered, but before she finished, he set his fingers against her lips to silence her.

Suddenly there were audible footfalls against the tunnel floor. Catherine made a silent gesture at the area the noise was coming from, and Vincent nodded, warily taking a step toward it. But Catherine caught his arm and shook her head, wild fear being projected through the bond. Vincent's calm eyes found her fearful ones, reassuring and chiding her at the same time. If she insisted on taking risks, why couldn't he? Besides, if someone _had_ followed them, they couldn't allow themselves to be seen going through the passage.

Catherine released him reluctantly and crossed her arms around her middle. She nervously watched him take a step, and then another, toward the noise. There was a sudden scuffle and the noise fell silent. Vincent glanced back at Catherine and she took a step forward, his safety foremost in her mind. But he shook his head and signaled her to move back. She stubbornly held her ground.

Vincent rolled his eyes at her as he turned back to the source of the noise. He felt Catherine's fear elevate as he stepped into the shadows. Her eyesight was not as keen as his, and he used his given talent freely, adjusting to the darkness as fast as he was stepping into it. He saw an odd dark heap on the dirt floor, just a few feet from him. He made to move toward it when it began moaning. It made guttural, low-pitched, and sorrowful sounds as Vincent moved near, slowly. Suddenly it began rocking, slow at first, but growing steadily quicker. It was at this distance that Vincent knelt and found a dark-haired child huddled over herself, rocking, and crying, and moaning. She made no acknowledgment of his presence. Her eyes were fixed on a point of the floor and she never deviated. She repeated on sound, amongst her myriad of other moans, that Vincent couldn't decipher, but felt sure that it meant something.

He watched her for a moment to see if she would react to him at all. When it seemed clear that she wasn't acknowledging the world around her, Vincent looked up at his companion. "Catherine," he called softly, "come see what I found."

Catherine, on edge from minute one, leapt forward and rushed into the shadows to Vincent's side. It took her a moment to adjust, but as soon as she had, she realized that she was sitting in front of a familiar young girl. She reached forward tentatively and tucked one half of the girl's hair back behind her ear. The girl never flinched. She only moaned and rocked and repeated the same sound, over and over.

Catherine sat back and sighed. "Morgaine," she called to the girl sadly, but she never looked at her audience. "Damn!" Catherine cursed quietly and then looked at Vincent, angry at her own irony. "This is Morgaine Maillar. The oldest sibling." She turned back to Morgaine and leaned in. "Honey, what happened?" No reaction from the child. "Where is your sister?" Nothing but a blank face, coated with a few tears. "Your brother?" It was no use, the girl was stone. In a final effort, she reached forward and clutched the girl's hands. "Mora! Where's Gwen?"

Mora whined and struggled to free her hands, but Catherine's words struck something in her. She was repeating that guttural sound with more urgency now, insisting it to nothing and no one in particular.

Vincent looked up slowly and nodded at Catherine, "Gwen. She's looking for her sister. She keeps saying, 'Gwen'. "

Catherine took one sad examination of the child and immediately set to work. "I don't know how she got out here," she informed Vincent as she moved behind Mora, "but I have to take her back to her foster parents." She reached under the girl's arms and tried to lift her to her feet. Mora kicked and squealed, though, with no intention of moving.

Slowly, Vincent took Catherine's place behind the autistic child. He moved Catherine out of the way and looked at her with true concern. "Please, dearest, don't strain yourself." When she gave an agreeing nod, he turned back to Mora and knelt down, setting his head on the side of hers. Catherine watched with admiration and the deepest love as her Vincent whispered indistinguishable words, only meant for his charge, as he slowly, calmly, coaxed her off the ground.

Eventually, Mora was standing, her eyes fixed on a new focus point and half of her fist buried in her mouth. Catherine cautiously moved to the girl's side and smoothed out her oily raven hair, smiling all the while at Vincent in adoration. "I have to get her back home." She put an arm around the young girl and coaxed her barely a half-step. "Come on, sweetheart," she encouraged.

"We're not going back!" a strong voice announced from the other end of the tunnel.

Mora tried to move toward the voice of her sister, but discovered Catherine had become a barrier that she couldn't get past.

"Gwen!" Catherine exclaimed, surprised, but holding out an arm to catch Mora, and glancing back to be sure Vincent had moved deeper into the shadows.

Gwen moved forward stiffly, peering warily into the shadow where Vincent hid. Arthur trailed behind, terrified of every patch of darkness he fell into. He held fast to his sister's coat, as if a talisman to his fears.

"Mora, come here!" Gwen commanded, her hand outstretched, but shaking.

The girl happily made to run to her sister, but Catherine caught her shoulders and held her protectively to her breast. "Gwen, tell me what's going on."

"Give me my sister!" She was shaking harder now and Arthur was practically glued to her side.

"Did you run away? Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how dangerous-"

"Give me my sister!" Gwen screamed, Arthur whimpered at her side, and Mora struggled in Catherine's hold.

"Central Park is dangerous at night!" Catherine insisted, fighting her hardest to hold Mora, but the girl had already wrenched an arm free and had begun trying to hit Catherine.

"Give her to me! Please!" a genuine plea from Gwen was stuck in her throat. "Please, Ms. Chandler! Let her go! Please!" There were true tears coming from the girl.

Catherine was stunned and let her grip loosen just enough that Mora's elbow to her chest knocked the wind out of her and she released the girl. Mora raced to her sister, but Catherine stumbled back, trying to catch her breath. She felt Vincent reach for her, but she pulled away, pulling herself together, and refusing to lose any connection to the children.

"All right," Catherine coughed. "All right. You have her." She watched Mora wrap herself around her sister and lose her focus on a piece of rust. "Just tell me what you three are doing out here."

Gwen was silent, holding fast to Mora and occasionally glancing back to be sure Arthur was securely attached to her.

"Why did you leave the Harrison's?" Catherine tried again, but Gwen only watched her intently. "Were they mistreating you? Gwen?" The girl's gaze shifted to the shadows where Vincent hid and her stare intensified, making Catherine very uncomfortable. "Gwen! Answer me!" Through the bond, Catherine found Vincent's curiosity coursing through him as the child studied the area in which he stood. "Gwen!" she tried to distract the girl again. "Gwen," a softer approach now, "I'm going to take you all back, okay?"

"No!" Gwen snapped, her attention back on Catherine after another evaluation that her siblings were attached to her.

"Gwen... what happened?" Catherine spoke slowly.

"Nothing! Nothing happened. Just leave us alone! Okay?" Gwen pushed her brother, indicating that they were collectively going to back away.

"Listen to me, Gwen!" Catherine insisted desperately. "You three are safe with the Harrison's. He can't get to you there! Do you understand?"

"But _they_ can!" Gwen cried out. "_You_ don't understand! They can still get us!"

"Who?" Catherine took a step toward the trio to keep them in her sight.

"We'll leave New York! We can go north! They aren't there. _Then_ we'll be safe!" Gwen was rambling now, all of her inner thoughts spilling for Catherine to decipher without a code.

"Gwen, please," Catherine stepped forward, cautiously following them, mentally grasping for them, "let me help you."

"You can't!" Gwen screamed, uncontrollable emotions spewing out of her. Mora crushed her ear against her shoulder to block out the noise, beginning to whine, and Arthur clung to his sister tighter as if his holding her would keep her from exploding. Catherine stood stock still, waiting nervously for some sort of opportunity. "You can't help us! Leave us alone!"

"Gwen..." Catherine started forward in a low, soothing voice to coax the girl like a wild animal.

"No! You're one of them, aren't you?" At Gwen's accusation, Arthur whimpered and tucked behind her further.

"Gwen, honey," Catherine spoke calmly, her hands held up in surrender, "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I would like to help you..."

"You are!" Gwen inhaled sharply as Catherine's step forward pulled her into a patch of shadow. "You hide in the shadows!" Gwen tucked Mora back so that she stood in front of both her siblings. "You live in darkness, don't you?"

Catherine was perfectly still, in total confusion, and watched Gwen carefully. "What has he done to you three?"

"And you're with _him_!" Gwen pointed a sharp, accusing finger right past Catherine and into the blackness behind her.

Catherine froze, shocked and terrified now. She searched for Vincent through the bond and found him very quiet, but waiting; more curious than afraid, and this calmed her. She breathed deeply and dropped her hands. "Okay," she spoke soothingly to the children. "Okay. Calm down. Just calm down." The children's sobs had quieted, but Gwen was still half-bent and pointing at Vincent. "Gwen," she tried to get the girl's attention. "Gwen, look at me."

Catherine heard Arthur whimper, "don't do it!" to his sister, and she didn't move.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Catherine assured as sincerely as possible. "Please, just look at me. I want you to see that I'm telling you the truth."

Slowly, Gwen's arm dropped, along with her head, and gradually she made her gaze focus on Catherine. "Who is he?" her words stabbed at the woman.

"Not now," Catherine told her, never losing eye contact. "Right now I want you to-"

"Who is he?" Gwen demanded.

"Listen to me!" Catherine yelled back. Once again, she was shocked to see the children freeze and pay attention to her suddenly. Their reactions to what seemed, to her, to be such an insignificant act was fascinating and terrifying to her. "Who are these people you're running from?" No one spoke. "I want to help you," Catherine tried again, "but unless I know who 'they' are, I can't protect you." Gwen's eyes lowered to the ground and she mumbled something unintelligible. Catherine took a small, tentative step toward the siblings and tried to re-capture Gwen's eyes. "What was that?"

"It doesn't matter," Gwen mumbled again, a little more clear this time.

"What doesn't matter?" Catherine inched closer again, as if creeping up on a nervous animal.

Gwen raised her eyes to Catherine, surprised to find her so close, and shook her curls out of her face. "You're not one of them, are you?"

"I don't even know who you're talking about, sweetheart." Catherine was elated at the new-found comfort, but diligently tried not to show it.

Gwen didn't answer, she just looked at Catherine with piercing hazel eyes, examining every detail of her face. "Your protection," she finally spoke, "it doesn't matter. They always find us, no matter where we go. There's nowhere you could hide us."

"Gwen..." Catherine was close enough to touch the girl now, but she didn't, "who are they?"

She examined Catherine for a moment longer. For that moment all of the walls between them vanished. Everything was honest and there was no manipulation. For a moment, Gwen's brother and sister were gone, and there was only she and Catherine. "Who is he?" she asked the engaging woman, calmly and clearly.

Catherine breathed, nervously fighting with herself to not answer the child.

"It's a fair trade. You tell me who he is, I'll tell you who they are," Gwen reasoned and squeezed Arthur's shaking hand to reassure him.

Catherine opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again. Suddenly, she felt Vincent, encouraging her through the bond. She sent her fear and insecurity back to him, but he insisted. She swallowed hard and her attention shifted back to Gwen, who was still, calm, and waiting patiently. "Um..." she faltered and turned back to Vincent with uncertainty.

"Go on," his melodic, comforting voice emerged from the shadows.

"He..." she stumbled as she turned back to the children. Arthur's eyes were wide and terrified, but Gwen was simply calm and curious. "He's my husband," she answered quickly and simply.

There was a moment of silence and Vincent's voice filled it suddenly. "Don't be frightened. I won't harm you. My name is Vincent."

Mora suddenly took notice and tried to step toward his voice, but her sister held her back. "Why are you hiding there?"

"I don't want to frighten you."

"You're already frightening us," Gwen insisted, showing no fear at all.

"All right, Gwen," Catherine took control, beyond worried about this unnerving encounter, "now you tell me who you're running from."

"Come out into the light," Gwen spoke right past Catherine, ignoring her completely. She shook off Arthur's physical plea and waited.

"No!" Catherine immediately pounced in front of Gwen's line of vision. Simultaneously, Vincent reached for her through the bond, and she turned to stop him as well. "No, Vincent! Now Gwen, I've held up my end of the bargain. I want to know-"

"I don't trust anyone who hides," Gwen insisted, as if Catherine had no need of existence at that moment.

"Strange," Vincent began, his voice only a sweet whisper, "isn't that exactly what you're trying to do?"

"Yes," Gwen admitted, but proudly glanced back at her brother and sister, "but I'm not just doing it for my own benefit."

"Neither am I," Vincent responded quickly.

"Aren't you?" Gwen challenged with a flash in her hazel eyes.

"That's enough!" Catherine nearly yelled, and Mora suddenly cowered behind her sister. "Vincent, stop it. You're just toying with the girl."

"And she's gaining ground," Vincent admitted, amazed and impressed.

Catherine ignored his comment, and turned back to the children. "I want answers, Gwen. Otherwise, I see no reason not to take you right back to the Harrison's."

"We'll just run away again, Ms. Chandler," Gwen's intense stare switched back to the woman, and she corrected herself. "Mrs. Chandler."

"Catherine..." Vincent took a step forward, not quite in the light, but his outline now distinct.

Catherine didn't even look back, she just pointed commandingly at him. "Vincent, stay there! If they won't trust us with their secret, then we can't trust them with ours." This was meant to intrigue the children, but Arthur was too afraid, and Gwen remained stone.

"Catherine," Vincent began again with a tone that said he wouldn't be interrupted again, "they're afraid. Don't push them." And then his tone went soft, obviously meant for the children. "Don't worry. You're safe. We'll hide you where no one will ever harm you again."

Catherine's eyes shot wide open. "Vincent!" she half-turned back to him.

Gwen was just as terrified as her brother now, horror flashing on her face. She had walked them straight into a trap because of her own stupid curiosity. Why didn't she ever learn? Now they would be taken again.

"Guinevere, no," Vincent assured suddenly. "Don't be afraid. It's a good, safe place. They'll take care of you there."

"I can take care of myself!" Gwen insisted, pushing her brother and sister a step back.

"We're not taking them anywhere!" Catherine argued. "They have to go back to their foster home!"

"No!" Gwen yelled, another step backward.

"Gwen..." Catherine tried to appease her, but Vincent cut her off.

"Catherine, you told me just the other day that you wanted nothing more than to keep them safe with you."

"It's not that simple, Vincent! There's a trial going on and we need these children!"

"They're children, Catherine! Not textbooks! You can't just extract information from them!" Vincent fell right back into their argument.

"They can't hide from the world, no matter what you or I want for them!" Catherine expertly argued while keeping an eye on the children to be sure they didn't run off.

"And did you not put yourself in danger today for them? Do you want to prevent that from ever happening again? Do you want to keep us all out of harm's way, Catherine?"

"Vincent, don't do this," she sighed, exhausted and unable to hide it anymore.

"Look at them, dearest," Vincent's tone was so light, he knew how tired she was, but this was a fight that had to be won. "They're truly afraid. We can't turn them away. Catherine..." he pulled her attention back to him and whispered the words she uttered to him not long ago, "you can't abandon them."

She turned back to the children and found them a couple paces further from her than before. But even Arthur wasn't so afraid anymore. They were watching Vincent and Catherine, baffled by the argument, and even more fascinated by its abrupt end.

"I'm sorry," Catherine apologized to them with a sigh. She smiled when Gwen and Arthur glanced around themselves nervously, unsure of how to answer. "Look," she looked back at Vincent for a moment and then back to the children, "this will not be as easy as he makes it sound. There are a lot of complications. You have to understand that."

Gwen watched her nervously, not sure where all of this was going. She clung tight to Arthur's hand and kept Mora close, confused whenever her sister would try to step toward Vincent's voice.

"You know that I can't just let you go off on your own," Catherine continued. "So, you have two options; you can go back to the Harrison's, and I will arrange for an officer to stay with you to protect you at all times, or you can come with us. Listen," she stepped close to the trio, dropping her voice low, "there are a lot of responsibilities that come with going with us. We will keep you secluded and safe and free from all of the threats up here, but you will have to do the same for us, and everyone else who is there. They are all there for protection as well, and you cannot betray them. Do you understand?"

Gwen watched her for a moment and then tilted her head, her brow furrowed. "No."

"Of course not," Vincent spoke softly from the shadows. "You have no idea what we're talking about." He sighed quietly and began, "There is a place, cut off from the rest of the world up here. It's far below the city, under the subways, even. People go there to heal, to be among kindred spirits, and to live their lives without so much pain. But this place has to remain a secret because there are some of us there who aren't like yourselves, or Catherine." Slowly, steadily, Vincent moved forward, out of the shadows and into the strips of light. "We cannot live in your world. We're different, and we know what your world would do to us, were we ever found out." He stepped up beside Catherine, wrapping a strong arm around her waist to lean her tired body against.

Gwen and Arthur stumbled back a step. Arthur nearly fell, thinking that they were going to run again. But Gwen held her ground and struggled with her sister who tried to move toward Vincent. Arthur regained his footing and his grip on his elder sister's jacket. Crying openly now, he yanked and pleaded with her to run, but she refused. She was busy controlling Mora who just kept trying to run to the couple who were hardly feet from them. Finally, being pulled in two different directions, Gwen took a long, hard look at Vincent and then a deep breath. She pulled Mora around to face her and held her hands between her own.

"Stop," she whispered to Mora, connecting to the girl on a plane that no one seemed to understand. Mora fidgeted for a minute more, trying to pull her eyes away, desperately wanting to stare at Vincent. Finally she stilled and Gwen moved her to her side.

Gwen turned then to Arthur, who was still crying and pulling on her, refusing to look up from her jacket. "Arthur!" she yelled, her tone very different from the one she used with Mora. "Arthur, stop that! Stop crying! Arthur, look at me!" He shook his head, so she grabbed his chin and pulled his face up to hers. She heard Catherine step forward, but Vincent whispered, "no". Gwen wiped her brother's tears off of his face, but held his chin firmly. "Listen to me! Not everything is as it seems!"

"But," Arthur sobbed, "but, Gwen, he's..."

"Stop it! He's offering us a place to hide. No more shelters. No more foster parents. No more running, Arthur," she encouraged him with everything in her, even though she didn't believe a word of it.

"But... what if they're..."

"Mrs. Chandler doesn't even want us. She wants to send us back to the Harrison's. If she were one of them, she wouldn't want to take us back there." She released his face and spoke gently now. "And look at him, Arthur." The boy hesitated. "Go ahead, just look at him." Without looking herself, she watched Arthur reluctantly peek around her at the massive figure. "Why would he be trying to convince us? He's big enough, fast enough, he could just take us." She smiled at the absurdity and necessity of her next statement. "No, he's just as afraid of us as we are of him." She turned now and hooked an arm around Arthur's shoulders, smiling at the beautiful and engaging woman. "And I think Mrs. Chandler's even more terrified."

"Catherine," she corrected gently, with a fond smile.

Gwen nodded and then focused back on her brother. "It's gonna be okay."

"I'm afraid," Arthur shivered from head to toe. "What if we never come back?"

With no smile, in complete sincerity that broke Catherine and Vincent's hearts, Gwen replied, "Then we'll be the luckiest people in the world." With the deepest uncertainty, Arthur nodded his agreement and swallowed hard.

The huge iron door, the gateway to that supposed wonderland, slid back and Arthur, terrified, took a step away. Gwen reached out her hand as she had back at the courthouse, but her face was stronger and softer all in one now. Arthur clasped her hand, pulling her ear close to his lips. It didn't matter, he was too frightened to be quiet enough, and Catherine and Vincent heard him clearly.

"The Underworld!" he tried to whisper to her, though his trembling wouldn't allow it.

Gwen turned and whispered to him, true secrecy this time, though both adults strained to hear them. Finally, she looked up at them, and nodded that they were ready. Slowly, steadily, the Maillar children followed them through the passage, and were locked into the tunnels.

The tunnels were dark and moist tonight. Catherine kept herself amongst the children in case one wandered off out of curiosity. At least that's what she told herself. Vincent knew the truth, of course, and she wished he wasn't so conspicuous about it. Every one of the siblings were ready to run at any second. Catherine didn't have to be empathic to feel it. She saw it play across each of their faces.

Mora seemed trusting of both Vincent and Catherine, however the new smells and strange sounds of the tunnels had put her on edge. She was tense, and scuffled along the path that Catherine led her. She seemed keenly ready to turn and run at any second.

Arthur was in full scale panic and did nothing to hide it. He clung to Gwen as if his holding onto her kept him together. He jumped at every sound and hid every time Vincent would turn to check on them. A few times Catherine had seen Vincent look back and felt Arthur pull back on Gwen's arm, as if he were turning to run.

Gwen, however, remained eerily serene. Her body was ridged as a rock, but she followed Catherine as a chick follows a hen. Catherine had to wonder at this child. She had such a strong will and such conviction; fierce instincts and bitter experience. Yet, for all that, she was blindly trusting a woman she had been terrified of in a courtroom not 24hours ago. Still, this girl was so prepared. One false word, one odd look, and both Catherine and Vincent were quite aware that she would grab Mora and Arthur and run as fast as her legs could carry her.

"It's not far," Catherine assured them in order to break the tense silence.

"Where are we going?" Gwen asked, trying to keep her voice level.

"My Father," Vincent called back. "He's the leader of the community. He has to meet all of the new-comers."

Catherine heard Arthur whisper urgently, and Gwen scolded him unintelligibly. There was nothing to be done to dispel the boy's fears. Both Catherine and Vincent were having trouble accepting it for the time being.

"Should we..." Gwen faltered, surprising them again with her unwillingness to be rude, "know anything? To say, I mean?"

Catherine smiled at her, happy to find a fear that she could soothe away. "Father founded the community. Everyone calls him Father. Vincent only has special privileges because he was adopted by Father as a baby," she teased.

"Adopted?" Gwen seemed surprised and Catherine's smile grew, knowing that the girl had gotten the message.

"Yes. Vincent was found by a dweller outside St. Vincent's hospital. He had been abandoned. The woman brought him here to keep him safe and Father cared for him..." and with a sly grin toward her husband, she added, "for the rest of his life."

"Not fair," Vincent called back, and turned a corner into the center hub.

The siblings' eyes grew wide as people; normal, happy people, began passing them and waiving, staring curiously at the new children, and wishing them all a good evening. To their utter shock, a large group of children, no older than themselves came running by, calling to each other, and passing a ball between them. They were corralled by a young woman, her thin hair in a ponytail, and the first female they had seen in pants. She stopped, breathless in front of their train.

"Hey guys!"

"Jamie," Vincent greeted her, "are you all right?"

"Just so you know, I'm getting on pipe repair next time. I don't do well with children. Whoever suggested me for this was mean and cruel." She inhaled suddenly, "Cullen! It was Cullen, wasn't it?"

"I honestly don't know, Jamie," Vincent suppressed his laughter, knowing it would only earn him an annoyed look, and maybe a punch in the arm.

"Oh, Catherine!" Jamie pulled a sling off of her shoulder. "Lena said to say thank you."

"Well," Catherine sighed, an odd sadness washing over her suddenly as she took the sling, "someone should put it to use."

Jaime watched Vincent wrap a soothing arm around Catherine, and added her own supportive smile. "Really sweet of you to loan it out. Well... I guess Father and Mary might be a little upset, to say the least, if I didn't put these guys to bed."

Vincent threw a glance back to the children trailing behind him. "You'll soon have three more."

"Don't tell me that!" Jamie whined, rolled her eyes and sighed as they fell back on her group. "All right! Come on, everyone! Bedtime. And first one who whines about it gets left out of the story tonight."

"What about the second?" a boy shouted out.

"I call third!" another yelled.

Catherine giggled as the group moved beyond their earshot. She gave an ironic smile to Vincent and the siblings. "Harsh sentence. Poor dears."

Vincent's mouth twitched into something of a smile and his arm tightened around Catherine. The siblings seemed lost on what was funny. But, they quickly followed when called.

They didn't travel much farther before Vincent stopped in front of an archway and turned, catching a glimpse of Arthur stumbling back and quickly clawing at Gwen's shirt. Vincent caught eyes with Catherine, and they shared a half-second of disappointment. "Stay out here. I'll try to break this to him gently."

"Good luck," Catherine squeezed his hand. "And, do me a favor, love? Let him know that I had nothing to do with this."

"I absolutely will not," he told her sweetly and kissed the side of her head. "I'm telling him it's all your fault because you don't know how to delegate the work."

"Vincent!" But her scolding came too late. He had already ducked through the entrance. She sighed and leaned against the wall, awkwardly catching the eyes of the three children staring expectantly at her.

"Father," Vincent greeted the old man as he came down the steps.

"Vincent!" Father looked up from a journal and smiled at his son. "Come to say goodnight?"

"Uh..." Vincent bowed his head, "no, Father. I came to apologize. For many things, actually."

"Well," Father took off his glasses and waited, "you certainly have my attention."

"Yes; well," Vincent stumbled, suddenly feeling eight-years-old again, "first I'd like to apologize for dinner this evening. Catherine and I... were not in the most conversational moods."

"No, I could see that. Would you like to talk about it?"

"No... Father, thank you. We've... um, worked it out. I think. I hope." Vincent glanced nervously around himself.

"Vincent, is something the matter?" Father examined him. "Is Catherine all right? Is she feeling-"

"She's well, Father. It's just..." he took a deep breath and began. "It's the custody case that she's been working on. I've told her to be careful, but... well, you know Catherine."

* * *

><p>Catherine tried her hardest not to stare, but the children before her were drawing her attention so strongly. She couldn't look away if she tried. Mora was alert, but had calmed a little since they had stopped walking. Gwen was keenly aware of everything, but amazingly, she only had eyes for her siblings. Arthur, however, was beside himself with fear. He jumped at the flicker of every torch and every sound that danced across the pipes. It was all too much for Catherine to bear. Finally she was compelled to try to soothe all of them.<p>

"Arthur?" The boy jumped at the sound of his name. "Are you all right?"

"He's just scared," Gwen informed, tucking her brother into her shoulder.

Catherine nodded. "Yes, I see that. You know, I was scared the first time I was here too. I didn't know anyone or where I was. I think I would have tried to run away if I could have."

"You were kidnapped," Gwen guessed, now locked onto Catherine's face.

"No. No, I was rescued." Catherine caught Gwen's skeptical glance. So young, and so determined to suspect the worst. "You're right, though. I had been kidnapped. Some men put me in a van and hurt me. Then they left me in Central Park."

"The Harrison's talked about that," Gwen interjected. "They said it was fortune that we had 'a victim' on our case. Didn't know what they meant." She paused and dropped her eyes. "I wasn't supposed to hear that."

Catherine smiled at the curly-haired tween wild-child she suddenly saw in front of her. "Someday, Gwen, people won't take you for granted quite so much." Gwen looked up at her quickly. "So, what else weren't you supposed to have heard?"

Gwen shrugged. "You were found in your apartment or something, weeks later. No one knew how you got there. Not even you."

Catherine chuckled. "I couldn't very well tell them I had been here, now could I? Vincent had found me that night in the park. He saved my life. He brought me to Father," she gestured to the archway, "on a night... a lot like tonight." She attempted to slyly draw a parallel without Gwen directly catching on to what she was saying. But, once again, the child was too quick for her.

"Is that what you think is happening here, Mrs. Chandler? You think you're saving our lives?"

Catherine was caught a little off guard, but gave an honest answer, knowing that Gwen would catch her at a bluff. "I certainly hope so."

Gwen tucked her face into Mora's raven hair, but kept her eyes on Catherine. Such a gesture was worthy of a mother protecting her child, and Catherine's heart ached suddenly. She took the sling Jaime had handed her off of her shoulder and hooked it properly over her head, so that it hung around her neck and under her arm.

"... out of your minds?" The sudden shout echoed out into the tunnel, but was quickly silenced.

Catherine turned back to the siblings and found they had taken a step away. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Don't worry. He just needs a minute to overreact."

* * *

><p>"Catherine," Vincent emerged from Father's study, obviously a bit worn. "Father would like to speak to the children."<p>

"Come on," she coaxed them, careful not to touch them. "It's all right. Don't be frightened. He just wants to talk." She herded them through the passage.

"Catherine," Vincent caught her arm and kept her in the tunnel. "I need to speak with you."

Catherine glanced back, the children had frozen and were staring at them. "Vincent, I can't leave them."

"They'll be fine. I need to speak with you privately." Vincent was nervous and upset, Catherine could feel it practically radiating off of him.

She nodded and turned to the siblings. "It's all right. No one will harm you. I will be there as soon as I can."

Gwen nodded and edged her brother and sister through the passage, looking back at Catherine as much as she possibly could.

Vincent pulled Catherine away from the entrance to give them more privacy. "We have a problem," he began with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Catherine reached up and gently pushed his hair out of his face. He was struggling with something.

"I don't know why I jumped into this. I was just so compelled. I just want to protect you... and them. I just..."

"Vincent, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

"We have no room, Catherine. There's nowhere to put them. We have one bed available, but no place to set it up."

"Father-"

"Father won't turn them away. He can't, but... that doesn't solve our problem."

"Well..." Catherine glanced around as if looking for an answer, "we could build, couldn't we? Add onto the dorms?"

"Of course, but not for a couple of weeks. There are other projects that have to take priority." There was quiet between them for a moment, but Vincent was still holding something back.

"What?" Catherine finally asked, looking deeply into his eyes. "What is it?"

"Father..." Vincent exhaled and looked away from her. "Father suggested..." it took effort and her touch on his chest to draw his gaze back to her, "he suggested our spare room."

Catherine's mouth opened, but closed it quickly. She dropped her head, searching for words, but none came.

"Catherine," Vincent took her hands, "if you don't want them in there, we won't put them there. It's as simple as that."

Catherine nodded, solemn. "Do you want to put them in... the spare room?" She asked in a bit of a mumble, a little bitterness creeping in at the end.

Vincent sighed, his eyes closed. He gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. "I... want them to be safe. I think they truly will run away again if we don't take them. And I think that this is something that we have to sacrifice for them."

Catherine nodded, inhaling deeply, and stepped away from him. "If you think it's best." She turned, tucking her face away from him.

"Catherine," he reached for her, "don't be angry."

"I'm not." She took his hand and let him see her tearful eyes. "You're right. It's for the best."

"This isn't forever, love," he assured her. "This isn't giving up."

"Of course not," she gave him a fake smile and squeezed his hand. "You'd better go. They're tired. They need someplace to sleep tonight."

"Catherine..." he grasped for her, but she had moved beyond his reach.

"Please go, Vincent," she choked. "I need to be irrational for a few minutes before I go into the study."

Vincent hesitated, but Catherine had already turned away from him and begun to sob. "I... I'm so sorry, my love." He finally, painfully, backed away from her, and down toward their chamber.

When Catherine finally entered Father's study, her eyes dried and looking as normal as possible, the children were all piled onto the chair that Vincent normally sat in. It brought a strange smile to her face. Mora, with her feet tucked under her, leaned back into Gwen, who was perched on the arm of the chair, playing aimlessly with her sister's hair. Arthur was on the opposite arm, closest to Father. Catherine could see something had happened in the ten minutes she had left them alone with Father. They were smiling, Arthur was relaxed and laughing, the girls looked like sisters and not their mother/daughter-like relationship. It was like magic. The same magic that Father seemed to work on everyone who was brought down to him. Catherine half regretted not seeing what had happened in the last ten minutes.

"But just so that you know, he is here," Father informed, good naturedly. "So, if you see him around, he's perfectly harmless."

"And his name really is Arthur?" the boy leaned forward, hanging on every word that fell from Father's mouth.

"Yes, of course! You know, I believe Mouse meant to name him after the legendary king of England." Father opened a large volume that seemed to always be sitting on his desk. "Which makes me wonder... Arthur," he looked at the boy, "as in King Arthur?"

Arthur nodded vigorously, "Yeah! Mom's favorite story."

"Really?" Father smiled. "So, Gwen... short for Guinevere?" The girl nodded, blushing a bit. "A king and a queen. Your mother had great ambition for you, didn't she?" The children giggled in agreement. "Mora, though. I can't quite place that one."

"Morgaine," Catherine came down the stairs and stood behind Gwen.

"Ah! Yes! The great sorceress!" Father leaned forward, trying to take Mora's attention away from the string on her shirt. "You know, there is some debate as to whether she was good or evil. What do you think, Morgaine?"

Morgaine didn't stir. Gwen pulled her dark hair away from her face and whispered, "go on" to her. The young girl's eyes scanned the chair, but eventually she worked her way upward and caught Father's eyes for a second, but ducked her head quickly, smiling shyly.

"She doesn't really talk a lot," Gwen explained apologetically.

"She should give lessons," Father chuckled. "There are people in this world who talk far too much. Myself included. It is time for bed." He looked up, giving Catherine his full attention, a wary look in his eyes. "Do they have a room, my dear?"

Catherine breathed deeply, gave him a tight smile, and nodded.

"Good! Children, why don't you gather your things. I'll see you all at breakfast. You can meet everyone then." Father made his way to Catherine, tucking her into a moment of privacy rather quickly. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Yes. Just fine. Vincent explained everything. I appreciate you allowing them to stay." She was determined to get through this quickly.

"Cathy... I know this is hard for you. It is hard for Vincent too. You should know that."

"I do know, Father. It's fine, really."

Father sighed, "Oh, Catherine, I wish I could make this easier for you two."

"Thank you, Father," Catherine declared loudly, breaking their privacy. "I appreciate everything you've done, and now I have to get these guys to bed."

It was Father's turn to give a tight smile. "Of course. I'll see all of you in the morning."

The tunnels were strangely quiet, as if every dweller were peeping out from somewhere to get a good look at the new-comers. Some of the relaxation the children had built with Father was ebbing away, and even more so when a voice emerged from the new chamber they were entering.

"There they are!" Vincent proclaimed, his arms wide.

The children were very still at the entrance, watching Catherine sink gladly into Vincent's waiting arms. She turned after giving him a quick kiss. Her back molded against his front, and his arms drawn lovingly around her, the couple took a moment to watch the children who were watching them. Both Catherine and Vincent noticed that even Mora seemed to be looking at them, possibly closer than the other two siblings.

"Come on in," Catherine called softly. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Gwen led the way, pulling Mora along behind her, and took Arthur's hand when he'd made his way to the other side of her. Arthur's eyes never left Vincent as he shrank behind his sister.

"Well," Catherine began awkwardly, "um, welcome."

Gwen and Arthur surveyed the room. The huge king-sized bed, stained glass window, statues and paintings and tapestries, two oversized armoires, and a writing desk.

"We're staying here?" Gwen asked in awe, focused almost completely on the window.

"Oh, well, this is our chamber," Catherine explained, "but you'll be staying in the joining room."

"I've set up three beds," Vincent offered, stepping out of Catherine's hold. "They're not much, but they should be comfortable." Vincent made his way across the room and pulled aside a set of striped patterned curtains to reveal a candle-lit room behind them.

The children hesitated, watching Vincent like frightened prey. Catherine felt so awful for her husband. The children were always the first to trust him. She'd never known a child to shy away after ten minutes, much less two hours with him! She could see Gwen's fear over-taking her and she took a step forward to guide both Arthur and Gwen forward.

"Go on. You three are tired," she cooed lightly, ever-mindful not to touch Mora, lest Gwen take it as an attack. "It's just a room. There's nothing to be afraid of."

The siblings inched forward, tucking close to the wall farthest from Vincent as they passed through the curtain, one by one. Catherine stepped forward to follow, but stopped a foot from the passageway.

"Catherine," Vincent moved toward her slowly. "Are you coming?"

"I don't think I can," she whispered, desperate for the children not to hear.

"You can!" he encouraged. "It's just a room."

"Don't make fun of me!" she snapped.

"I'm not! I swear to you, I'm not." He sighed, "But we have three children in there who can barely lay eyes on me. I need you. They trust you. I need you to be strong for them."

Catherine dropped her eyes. "I haven't been in that room in over a year."

"I know. And I think it's time we both go in and give ourselves over to just a little bit of hope," he reasoned, soothingly.

"Hope hurts," she stated, lifting her eyes to those soft striped curtains.

"Catherine, you can do this! I don't want to keep pretending-"

"I'm really tired, dearest," Catherine suddenly announced, turning from him and setting herself atop their bed. "Would you get them settled? I'm just going to get ready for bed."

Vincent watched his sweet and sad wife start digging through her armoire, pulling out sleepwear, and humming to herself as if he were already gone. He sighed, wishing he could make all of this go away. A wish for simple, happy lives that would never be. It would always be difficult, and painful, and frustrating, and heartbreaking; as it had been from the beginning. With a few candles lit, Vincent watched Catherine set herself at the desk and open her journal. He sighed heavily, took a moment to compose himself and ducked into the joining room.

* * *

><p>Gwen led her brother and sister into the adjoining room, but she stopped when she realized where she was. In the far corner was a baby's crib, beautifully crafted wood, smooth and shiny. It was hand painted with moons and stars, suns and leaves. There were faces painted on it as well, though Gwen had no way of knowing who they belonged to. Close to where she stood, against the wall, there was a changing table. Against the wall to her left were two tall shelves; one piled high with children's books and music, the other decorated with toys of all varieties. There was a sea chest near the crib that seemed to be bolted closed, but a bit of fabric was peeking out from the lid. A small dresser was against the far wall, also obviously beautifully handcrafted. A large rocking chair was perched along the wall as well, cradling multiple blankets and pillows. The floor was covered with an ornate woven rug, and the only thing that covered it were three beds, scattered throughout.<p>

Gwen turned back, expecting Catherine and Vincent to be behind her. Instead she found her brother cowering, with a confused expression, to one side, and her sister, twisting her fingers, on the other side. There were voices whispering beyond the curtain; they were fighting. At least some elements of life didn't change. This situation wouldn't last long. She could tell. Nervous now, Gwen surveyed the shelves built in, high up on the walls. They held multiple candles that circled the room.

Eventually Gwen's eyes fell on the beds. One was off the floor, barely, but held up by wheels. The other two were plain mattresses laid on the floor near each other, covered with old sheets.

Arthur had processed the layout at the same time as Gwen. He practically flew to the wheeled bed. But Gwen was faster. She stepped in front of him, cutting him off from his prize just as he reached it. "That's Mora's," she told him sharply.

"But Gwen..." he whined.

"No! The bed's Mora's!" she commanded with practiced authority.

"Gwen, if you sleep on the floor, and Mora sleeps on the floor, then you can put your beds together if she gets scared," Arthur argued expertly.

Gwen glanced between the beds, and then to Mora. She heard shuffling along the rock floor; large footsteps, a man. Vincent had joined them... only Vincent. Forcing herself to stay calm, she relented with a heavy sigh. "All right, take it."

"Yes!" Arthur moved around Gwen and fell on the bed.

Arthur had cleared Gwen's view of Vincent, standing in front of the exit, peering around at the room as she had just done, but with an odd, unrecognizable expression. Was he sad, angry, in awe? It didn't matter; he was closer to Mora than made her comfortable. She took Mora's arm and led her to the mattresses on the floor.

Gwen stopped and starred at the two make-shift beds spread out on the floor. Her eyes glazed over at the sight of the bed in the middle, the one she had picked for herself. Too perfect; all set for the perfect sin. She shook off the thought. She reminded herself that she was stronger now. Nothing of the past would ever happen again.

"There are pillows and blankets on the rocking chair. Would you like help with them?" Vincent made to move toward them, but Gwen's tone stopped him.

"We've got it!" her eyes met his, level and narrow. It calmed her, strangely so, to know that she could make this man; this full grown creature, back down at her will. He didn't want to hurt her, she knew that, acknowledged it. That didn't mean she wanted to be left alone with him any time soon.

"The accommodations will get better," a soft voice sounded from behind Vincent. Catherine stepped slowly into the chamber, taking in all of its contents. "You weren't expected, so there was hardly time to prepare."

"Catherine," Vincent breathed. He wrapped his arm around her middle and pulled her against his side, sending immense pride through the bond.

But no sooner had he done so than she broke away from him and moved into the center of the room. "You moved the furniture," she stated, barely a flicker of emotion. "The crib was here. The bookshelves weren't next to each other."

"I had to make room," Vincent apologized. He was keenly aware of both Gwen and Arthur's eyes on them. He needed to keep her calm. "I'll put everything back as soon as there is room in the dorms for them, all right?"

"I suppose," Catherine sighed.

"A-are we..." Gwen stammered, looking between to adults, "intruding or something?"

"No." Catherine was suddenly at the girl's side, speaking clearly and calmly. "No, never intruding, dear. I'm glad this room's being put to use." She pushed Gwen's curly hair back off of her shoulder. "You three look tired. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll give you the grand tour after breakfast tomorrow morning. Does that sound good?"

Gwen glanced at Arthur, who looked hopeful at the prospect of breakfast. She met Catherine's gaze again and nodded.

"Here," from her folded arms, Catherine produced an array of clothing, "it's just some old t-shirts and shorts to sleep in. Tomorrow we'll get you all a clean change of clothes."

"Thanks." Gwen took the clothes and tossed a shirt and sweatpants to her brother.

"We'll be in the next room if you need anything. And make sure you blow out all the candles before you fall asleep," Catherine insisted, looking around the room and beginning to lose her composure. She reached back and found Vincent's hand quickly. She caught hold of it as if it kept her standing as she moved back out of the room. "If you need _anything_, we're right here," she repeated. "Sleep well. We'll see you in the morning."

Finally Vincent had moved her back behind the curtain and there was a heavy, shaking sigh as the couple disappeared. Gwen surveyed the absent baby's room again. Arthur was at the shelf that held the children's books. He reached up to pull one out when Gwen caught his wrist. "Don't touch it."

"It's just a book. She said that no one was using this room anyways. Please, Gwen?"

"Just..." Gwen glanced at the hanging pink, blue, and green striped curtains and heard the muffled, whispering voices, "just don't touch anything. Okay? Go to sleep."

Arthur complied, begrudgingly, happy in that at least he had won his bed of choice. Gwen passed him a pillow and comforter once he'd changed into his bedclothes. She set up hers and Mora's beds as well and instructed Arthur, sternly, to roll over and try to sleep. She heard him snoring before she even began helping Mora into her over-sized t-shirt. Her siblings settled, Gwen made her way around the chamber, blowing out the candles. The chamber was pitch black when she crawled under the blankets, and attempted to hide from all her fears that emerged in the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Down in Larissa's lagoon<strong>

**There is no force that's greater**

**Looming deep within a very**

**A very, very troubled girl**

**She stays awake for hours**

**Picking out the sweetest flowers**

**To lay upon the grave**

**Of a very, very troubled girl**

Catherine came to consciousness slowly. She had been dreaming. A moving sidewalk. Six children, piled on the platform and she couldn't reach them. She would barely touch their fingers when the sidewalk would carry them away.

Catherine shook her head, too tired to open her eyes. It was still early, from the tapping of the pipes; still too early to get up. She contemplated her coming morning; she and Vincent had estimated the siblings sleeping until about 10am, to get their energy back. By then, she had hoped to have gone up to her apartment, get a phone call from Joe, spent 30minutes panicking with him about the missing Maillar children, and be back Below for breakfast. She squirmed a moment in Vincent's embrace, beginning to feel light-headed. 'Not today,' she scolded herself. 'I need to function today, please!'

Suddenly there was a release of breath from above her. She considered it just being Vincent in her ear, but she had the uncomfortable feeling of a presence standing over her, watching her. Squeezing her eyes tightly, partly to make the dizziness go away, partly to give herself the energy to open her eyes, she finally found the ambition to acknowledge the world beyond her eyelids.

Little Gwen, pale, and looking terrified by the light of the single candle that she carried, stood above Catherine, watching the woman struggle to awareness. She shifted, looking over her shoulder, keeping a steely eye on Vincent, as well as seemingly willing Catherine awake.

"Gwen? Are you all right, sweetheart?" Catherine squirmed again to prop herself up on an elbow.

"I... I just..." Gwen stammered. Catherine gave her the universal sign for 'quiet' after looking back to be sure Vincent was asleep. "I... um..." she fumbled still, but quieter. "Would you help me?" she finally pleaded desperately.

Confused, and still a little disoriented, Catherine cautiously picked up Vincent's arm and placed it at his side. She nodded to Gwen to move; she had to do this as swiftly as possible. Quickly, Catherine swung her legs over the bed, and slid off in one fluid movement. She was proud only for a second before a sleepy voice drifted up to her and she rolled her eyes.

"Is everything all right, love?" Vincent moaned, barely opening his eyes.

"Everything is fine, Vincent. Go back to sleep. I'll be right back," she cooed to him, an arm already draped around Gwen to spin her back toward her room.

Catherine followed Gwen past the curtain with as little hesitation as she could muster. When she spoke, her whisper was even quieter, and it was hard to make herself not seem anxious. "What's the matter, Gwen?"

"Um..." Gwen swayed, uncertain. "I'm really sorry to wake you up."

"It's fine, honey, what do you need?"

"Um... Mora won't sleep," Gwen said fairly quickly.

Catherine was skeptical for a moment. The girl's response seemed terribly contrived. But she glanced over, and there was Mora, rocking back and forth on top of her covers. Catherine glanced at Gwen, who seemed to be trying desperately to look innocent, and quickly knelt down to Mora's side.

"Hey, honey," Catherine swept the girl's hair back behind her ear, "why can't you sleep? Huh?"

Mora rocked persistently, her eyes focused on her hands that twisted around each other. Finally she looked up at Catherine for a moment, and then ducked her head again. "Mmm... dark," she stated firmly.

"It's not dark now," Gwen was kneeling in front of her sister. "I lit a candle. It's not dark anymore. Can you sleep now?"

"No," Mora shook her head so that her hair fell out of place again.

"What do you need, then?" Catherine leaned close, suddenly noticing that her hand-twisting had a pattern to it that she would repeat.

"Play!" Mora declared loudly, looking up at Gwen hopefully.

"No, Mora." Gwen placed her hands on top of Mora's, "No playing. It's bedtime."

"Oh my god, Gwen!" a moaning voice emerged from the heap of blankets on the one bed off the floor. "Please just give her the string and shut her up." Arthur was snoring again before anyone had a chance to speak.

Gwen met Catherine's eyes sheepishly. Quickly she was focused back on her sister. "Mora, honey, I forgot it. I left it at the Harrison's. I'm sorry. You can't play."

"Gwen," Catherine caught the twelve-year-old's attention, "what kind of string do you need?" The girl stared, stricken and confused. "You asked me to help, Gwen. If this will put her at ease, I won't deny her." Still Gwen didn't speak. "Guinevere, what kind of string?"

"Um... any," Gwen finally answered. "Long. It needs to be kind of long. Any kind is fine."

Catherine jumped up and went to the dresser. She found twine inside the top drawer measured it out to her arm's length and cut it off. She hurried back to the girls, not even bothering to close the drawer. "Okay..." she knelt beside them again, "not so hard, now was that?"

"Thanks," Gwen took the twine from her with a confused stare that Catherine couldn't interpret. She tied the ends of the string together and held it out to her sister. "Mora, I have a string. Can you use it?"

Mora didn't answer. She took the string and wrapped it around her fingers, smiling. The twisting she had been doing before with just her fingers suddenly took shape in the looped twine; bridges one minute, ladders the next.

Catherine leaned close to see Mora's newest creation. "She is amazing!" she breathed.

Gwen creased her brow. "It's only a habit. I taught it to her one day and she never stopped."

"And that's amazing!" Catherine assured in hushed tones. "Her dexterity, her focus... it betrays everything about her disorder. Autistic children have this amazing ability to do things that most of us can't even imagine." She looked up and found Gwen staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "I apologize. When I was assigned your case, I did some research. We have a couple autistic children down here, but they're fairly high-functioning. Mora's level of autism completely fascinates me."

"Um... okay, I guess," Gwen shrugged, lost on the wonder Catherine seemed to see in her disabled sister. "Bedtime, Mora," Gwen set her hand on top of Mora's fast and furious fingers. The girl whined for a second, high-pitched, and Gwen hushed it. "You can keep it. You can keep it. I just want you to lay down, okay?" With no word of protest, and her eyes never leaving her structures, Mora laid down and settled into her pillow. Gwen pulled the blankets up under her arms and pushed her hair off of her face.

"Okay," Catherine breathed, "crisis averted. Get yourself settled, Gwen, and I'll-"

"Catherine!" Gwen's face had gone pale again and she bit her lip nervously. "I..."

"Gwen, honey, are you all right?" Catherine leaned closer to see her better in the candlelight.

"I just... I'm..."

"Sweetheart, you have to tell me what's wrong or I can't help you," Catherine tried to soothe her.

"I'm... um," Gwen squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the reaction, "I'm... bleeding." Her voice was so low that Catherine almost didn't hear her.

"You're bleeding?" Catherine examined her from where she sat; a panicked once, twice, and third over.

"Not..." Gwen shifted uncomfortably and looked at the floor, "not like that."

It took about a second for Catherine to inhale lightly. "Oh! Oh, Gwen, you should have said before. Has this ever happened to you before?"

Gwen shook her head, refusing to look at the woman, white as a sheet and looking sick. "I- I think it got on one of the blankets. I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, no, Gwen it's okay! Don't be upset, honey." Catherine reached forward and lovingly ran her fingers along the girl's curly hair. "It's going to be all right," she soothed. She climbed to her feet and pulled Gwen up too. "Come on, I'll get you a clean change of clothes, and a new blanket, and we'll fix you up, okay?"

Gwen wrapped her arms around herself, still not looking at Catherine. "It's okay, you know. I mean, I know about it, and stuff."

"Okay," Catherine nodded encouragingly. "That's good. Come on, we'll get you cleaned up, and you can ask me anything you don't know about."

Catherine put together a full bath for Gwen, as quietly as she possibly could. Still she woke Vincent, as she knew she would.

"It's nothing, Vincent. Go back to sleep."

"Can I help? Let me help you."

"No, Vincent, I'd very much prefer that you didn't."

"You need your rest, Catherine."

"I'll have a nap tomorrow. Sleep now."

She checked in on Arthur and Mora as Gwen had begged of her, half way through her bath. Both were sound asleep; Arthur snoring, and Mora with her hands still holding her perfect Jacob's Ladder in the twine. Catherine didn't dare take the twine for fear of waking her.

Clean and dry, Gwen tip-toed through Vincent and Catherine's chamber. Even though Catherine held her shoulders gently and walked close behind her, fear still gripped at her stomach, twisting it into knots. Catherine could feel how tense the girl was, simply being in the room with Vincent. It broke her heart to not be able to put Gwen at ease. Catherine caught up the tunnel-made shift that hung on Gwen like a sack, and dragged on the ground. It was all Catherine could find within her own clothes that would even nearly fit the little twelve-year-old who seemed so small at the moment.

Gwen climbed under her blankets after checking on both of her siblings, her wet hair, perfectly straight with the weight of it, spread across the pillow like a fan around her head.

Catherine tucked the blankets up around Gwen, kneeling next to her bed, leaning over the girl, and feeling her own maternal nature like a stabbing pain in her heart. "We probably should have dried your hair somehow. It's very cool down here. I don't want you getting ill," she whispered as she ran her fingers through the strands of wet silk.

"I'll stay warm," Gwen promised, and then looked over to find Mora turned toward her, her perfectly formed twine between her cheek and pillow as she slept. "Thank you, Catherine."

"You're welcome," Catherine smiled warmly at her. She realized it was the first time Gwen had called her by her first name. "Are you uncomfortable at all? Feeling any pain?"

Gwen shook her head, mutely, unable to make her eyes leave Catherine's face.

"If you do, let me know. I have some tea from Chinatown, it works almost instantly. The women down here use it often." Gwen only stared up at her. "You know, the first time I began my cycle, my mother had died too." Gwen was quite alert now, and watching Catherine intensely, in all her innocence. "She died when I was very young, and I grew up with my father. Oh, I was so embarrassed the morning I woke up and I realized what was going on. My father must have known because I didn't say a word at breakfast. It was the first time I ever skipped school. I met my best friend just outside and told her what had happened. She had started hers a few months before me. Her mother was furious when we turned up at her house until Nancy explained. I spent the whole day in her living room, eating pie with Nancy and her mother," Catherine laughed a little at the memory. "But, I remember... sitting there, talking to Nancy's mother... I was so angry with my own mother for not being there. Even though I knew it wasn't her fault."

Gwen closed her eyes and nodded slowly. She turned her head away from Catherine and curled slightly under the covers.

"Gwen..." Catherine stroked her shoulder soothingly, "I know I'm not your mom, but if you have any questions, anything you want to ask me, anything you want to talk about, I would happily answer you as best I can."

Gwen didn't move. She laid perfectly still as if she were waiting for something to befall her. She was always at the ready, this poor little girl. And again, Catherine had to wonder what horrors Jack Hoffman had done to this sweet little creature.

Satisfied that Gwen was done talking for tonight, Catherine gathered the base of her nightgown to climb to her feet, but Gwen suddenly grabbed her arm to stop her. Sinking back down to her knees, some fear gripped her abdomen as the girl's sad eyes met hers.

"Can I ask you something?" Gwen pleaded in a whisper.

"Anything," Catherine assured again.

Gwen hesitated, and Catherine felt her fear lurch into her throat. "What happened to your baby?"

Catherine gaped at her for a second, not really prepared for that kind of question. She finally dropped her eyes and closed her mouth. "Um..." she bit her lips, desperately trying to think of a way around this. She raised her eyes, hoping beyond hope that Gwen was going to let this go and she wouldn't have to say a word. But, there were those clear, hazel eyes waiting for her; sympathetic, but waiting. Catherine sighed heavily and dropped her eyes again. "She..." a breath for strength, "she was born too early. She died... before she came into the world."

Those sweet, clear eyes stared back at her with such detached sympathy that Catherine could only glance at them briefly. This girl unnerved her so. "How old would she be now?"

"She would be..." Catherine stared at her hands in her lap, "almost two-years-old."

"Do you think you'll have any more?" Gwen's questions were so innocent sounding, never knowing how she cut Catherine like daggers... or did she?

"Well..." she began uneasily, trying to word her response so that it didn't sound as brutal as her heart made it feel, "um... I'm two months pregnant now, so..."

"Really?" Gwen studied her, looking almost as if she didn't believe her. "So, why aren't you happy?"

Catherine struggled for a moment; opening her mouth to speak, and then closing it upon her better judgment. Finally, she met Gwen's gaze. "Why are you asking?" she inquired calmly, truly curious herself.

Gwen sighed and turned her head to stare at Arthur and Mora. She spoke so softly that Catherine had to strain to hear her. "You were so sad. I could tell, that first day that you questioned me. Like... you were trapped and you knew that even if you were to cry for help, no one would know how to begin to help you. I knew that. I know how that feels," she mumbled. She paused, taking a breath before going on. "There are things about my mother that aren't in those files. There are things no one would know. Things no one _could_ know." Gwen was quiet again and Catherine did her best to hold herself in check. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. "Catherine, I've hardly spent more than a total of 6hours with you, but you've been nicer to us than we could ever hope to deserve."

"Gwen," Catherine began to reproach her, but the girl locked eyes with her again and stopped her.

"Please. You don't know how true that really is. Just let it go." She sighed, "Anyways, I figure anyone who can take care of us so easily; no second thoughts... well, you actually deserve to be a mom. You'd be a real good one."

Catherine smiled, her heart somehow lightened a bit. "Well... that was a very good answer. Thank you." Gwen nodded to her, but then those eyes were still waiting. She wanted an answer, and she wouldn't let Catherine go back on her promise. Catherine released a breath, and looked around the room; the disarray of baby furniture making her almost self-conscious, as if someone were judging her from behind one of them. "About... about five months after my daughter died, I was pregnant again. And I was happy. I was! I came back in here, I began painting the crib again. Mouse made that rocking chair. Everyone thought that it would be better this time. Father kept a close eye on me. We did everything right." Catherine's gaze grew distant, lost in memory. "Everything was going so well. I felt so much stronger, so much more prepared than I had been before." Catherine focused on Gwen, tears swimming in her eyes, and she shrugged bitterly. "And then, one morning, I woke up and I had miscarried. And that was that."

Gwen's face was near to stone, though she studied Catherine as if the woman were some alien object. Everything in her expression seemed to scream to know more. And, for some unknown reason, Catherine felt the need to keep answering.

"So, now..." Catherine brushed her tears away angrily, "it's not so much a happy occasion as it is..." she searched for the word, "waiting for the worst to happen."

Gwen exhaled heavily and turned quietly back to her brother and sister. "Yeah," she whispered, "I know what you mean."

Catherine closed her eyes and tried to calm her rapid heartbeat that she was so sure Gwen and everyone else in the tunnels could hear. She tried to justify it to herself; the children had to know sometime of the situation they'd been brought into. But really, Catherine had no idea what made her speak so frankly to the twelve-year-old girl that she hardly knew.

"Catherine?" Gwen's whisper reached her through her thoughts, and she told herself that she would fall apart if the girl asked her for any more details.

"Yes?" Catherine tried to keep her voice steady as she braced herself.

"I don't feel well," she whined quietly and curled a little more under the blankets. "Will you stay here until I fall asleep?"

Catherine released the breath she'd been holding and smiled at the sweet child beside her. "Yes, honey," she stroked that silk-like strawberry blonde hair that was now forming perfect curls as it dried. "I'll be right here next to you."

And, as the child fell asleep, amongst her brother and sister, in Catherine's nursery, that empty feeling in Catherine's heart began to sink into her stomach. It sat there like lead while the Maillar children slept in her baby's room. She set her hand on that place where that feeling sat and felt a warmth grow there suddenly. For a moment, just a brief moment, she swore she could feel something. A kick, a pulse of life beneath her palm. She smiled. In all this time, in these weeks of knowing, she'd never once thought of this baby as a life inside her. It was a bad omen, a bringer of inevitable despair that grew more painful the longer it lived inside her. But here she was, her hand pressed against the child growing steadily within her, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with all the promise and dreams that it brought along with it.

"Okay, little one," she submitted, sighing deeply, "here we go."

* * *

><p>Darkness. So much darkness. It closed in on her, forming shapes at the last moment before the black figures grabbed her, tossing her back and forth between each other. And then she was sinking, fighting as she was dragged downward in a never-ending vortex.<p>

Gwen jerked awake, her head coming sharply off of her pillow, feeling as if she'd landed belly-first onto her little make-shift bed. She breathed heavily as she surveyed her surroundings. She was still disoriented and slightly confused by the scattered baby furniture around her. The past 24hours came quickly back to her and she breathed easier to find Arthur and Mora on the wheeled bed playing Cat's Cradle.

She pushed herself up to sitting, the area just inward of her hips suddenly tightening, sending a heavy ache through her abdomen. She would need a bathroom soon, but she tried not to think about it. Just the thought was making her ill.

"You okay?" Arthur glanced up from the string twisted around his fingers.

Gwen nodded, tucking her knees up under her chin, wrapping herself up. Everything would go away if she could just make herself small.

"Is that what you went to bed in?" Arthur examined her closely, making Mora wait, with her hands tied up in the string.

Gwen looked down at herself, the off-white silken shift that was practically falling off of her, and the freshly washed hair that fell in perfect pin-curls down her arms. She shrugged and tilted her head to lay on her knees.

Mora whined and pushed the string formation against her brother's chest, protesting how long he'd made her wait. Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes, quickly finding the crosses to grab in her formation.

"Children?" a deep, rumbling voice called from beyond the curtain.

Arthur and Gwen froze. Mora innocently followed the direction her brother and sister were staring, but did not grasp it's importance, and so she shoved the string under Arthur's nose again. But neither of her younger siblings were paying attention. They were staring at the curtains, their bodies rigid, their eyes wide, and thousands of thoughts racing through their minds.

"Children?" Vincent called again. "Are you all awake?" The siblings wouldn't, couldn't respond. "I have clean clothes, and there is breakfast when you're ready." More silence. "Arthur?" the boy inhaled involuntarily. "Gwen?" she stiffened and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. With a sad sigh and a tone that implied resignation, Vincent made a final effort. "All right, if you need anything, I'm right outside."

Gwen released her breath as Vincent seemed to move away. With a deep inhale for courage, she quickly called out, "Vincent!" There was a scuffle of feet drawing closer and Arthur snapped his attention back to his sister. She waited, in fear of him bursting through the curtain. But there was a hesitation in the air that they could all feel, and the footsteps stopped at the curtain. Gwen swallowed, regaining her tongue and her courage. "Where is Catherine?"

"She's Above," Vincent answered with as soothing a voice as he could manage. "She had to go into work today. If you need anything-"

"No!" Gwen responded quickly

"All right," he tried to reassure. "She'll be back soon, children. And... I'm right outside."

There was silence again, and Arthur and Gwen let their nerves relax. Mora, who had given up on her brother, was making her own string designs as she climbed down onto her sister's bed, and dropped her head onto Gwen's shoulder. Gwen shifted, the cramping in her abdomen growing worse. But she wouldn't leave the room... not while he was out there.

* * *

><p>"Good morning, Vincent!" Mary's voice seemed to sing as she came through the entry way. Her arms were occupied with a large silver box, and she smiled easily at him.<p>

"Mary!" Vincent looked up, startled, from his journal work. "Good morning. Well," he glanced around himself, "nearly afternoon. What can I do for you?"

"Father was concerned when you and the children didn't come to breakfast. He said they might be too shy." Mary smiled wide at him, "Naturally, he sent me."

"Naturally," Vincent chuckled, but sobered quickly when Mary began glancing around the room, searching.

"Where are the children?" she asked pleasantly, but quickly took note of Vincent's fallen expression.

Vincent cleared his throat and glanced nervously at the curtain. "They're... well, they're in the baby's room." At Mary's raised eyebrows, he reluctantly continued. "They won't come out. They're... Mary, they're frightened of me."

The sweet woman paused for a moment, but then a smile broke across her face again. "Oooh, nonsense, Vincent. This is all so new to them, I'm sure it has nothing to do with you. Poor souls are just shy, I'll bet you." Mary patted his arm as she passed him. "Give me a moment with them, dear. I'll show you."

Vincent watched her pass him, some foreign sense of worry coursed through his body suddenly as she approached the heavy curtain. Keenly, he noted that she hesitated. It was barely perceptible, but she _had_ hesitated, as if she suddenly doubted herself. Vincent couldn't help himself but watch in wonder; children had never given anyone Below, least of all Mary, any reason for pause.

"Children?" Mary called softly; her melodic, maternal tones carrying easily and sweetly to the ear.

"Catherine?" Gwen's hopeful voice responded hesitantly, and Vincent's heart sank a bit at the fear that inevitably escaped from her.

"No dear," Mary answered swiftly, to the point, "my name is Mary. May I come in?"

There was quiet from the other side of the curtain, a tangible pause, then scuffling feet and hushed whispers as the children seemed to scramble. Mary tilted her ear, trying to better hear what was being said. The scuffling drew close and then the curtain was pulled carefully aside.

Young Guinevere, her brother cowering behind her, drew the curtain only slightly open, half her body still hidden, and leered at Mary. The hardness in her hazel eyes surprising and unnerving Mary at first. Gwen watched the old woman closely, examining her from head-to-toe, waiting for any reason to distrust her.

"Hello," Mary smiled sweetly, "what's your name?"

"Gwen," the young girl croaked, still staring, probingly at Mary.

"Gwen," the elder repeated kindly, "what a lovely name. As I said, I'm Mary. Father sent me. He was concerned when you weren't at breakfast. I thought I'd come and see if you needed anything."

Gwen glanced at the floor, then Mary, surveying her. She fidgeted, but only because Arthur was bouncing a bit behind her to get a look at their new person. She bit her lip and glanced at the floor again, her rigid body relaxing slightly, looking as if she may give in to Mary's charms. But when Gwen glanced back up to Mary's face, Vincent had shifted in such a way that he was now visible, and he caught her attention. the young girl's eyes went wide and she backed half of a step away, that distrustful glare returning. Vincent shrank from her gaze, and she would have relished the power she had over him if there were any waiver in her focus.

Mary quickly noticed Gwen's suddenly fixed attention and glanced over her shoulder to find Vincent with his proud chin tucked deep in his chest, his pitying, sorrowful eyes casting nervous glances at Gwen. Mary turned back to the girl, deciding to face this problem head-on. "You're not afraid of _Vincent_, are you?" she chuckled sweetly, being very careful not to sound condescending. "Why, he's as cuddly as a teddy-bear!" The girl's eyes were still glued to him, never acknowledging Mary. "Gwen, dear, please don't be frightened. Vincent would never harm you. You must know that," Mary searched the girl's eyes for any sign of recognition, but none. "Well, he brought you here to us, didn't he?"

Gwen's eyes suddenly snapped to meet Mary's. Quickly, she glanced between the two of them, Vincent and Mary, as if suddenly realizing some connection. As if suddenly understanding that they were in this conspiracy together. Slowly, her eyes wide and fearful, and casting daring looks at both adults, Gwen threw her hand backward, forcing Arthur to move as she backed away from them like a frightened animal, the curtain closing gracefully on her petrified little face.

Mary could only stand there, dumbfounded. It seemed so silly to her; it was only a curtain, a piece of cloth that she herself had probably helped weave. But it was much more. Young Gwen had created a barrier. Somehow that little girl had made Vincent, and Mary too, believe that this simple piece of cloth was somehow impenetrable, forbidden in some way. Of course, she knew, and she was sure Vincent knew, that barrier was purely mental. But, she had to marvel at how that mental barrier seemed almost physical to everyone else but Gwen. Mary looked back over her shoulder, her sad, watery blue eyes locking with Vincent's.

The look on his face was so full, it was difficult to pin-point. Anger and frustration, pity and sorrow, guilt and self-loathing, all somehow marking themselves on his features.

Mary was at a loss. Never had any child shut her or Vincent out. If anything, they were the ones the children would run to the most. All she could do was attempt something of an encouraging smile and state, "you moved the baby's furniture."

Vincent sighed, his eyes falling to the floor. Slowly, he dropped himself into the seat at his desk and let his face fall into his hands.

* * *

><p>"What is it? What's wrong?" Catherine practically flew into their chamber, her coat hardly orderly, her hair wind-blown, and her briefcase abandoned as soon as she had crossed the threshold. "Vincent?" As quickly as she had breezed in, she expected an answer from her husband.<p>

Vincent raised his cobalt eyes to meet his wife's sea-foam green and he nearly smiled at her. Oh, how he loved it when she made that face! Nothing could stop her when she made that face. Words like 'determination' and 'resolve' were only building blocks to describe Catherine when she made that face. That take-charge attitude, that focus, that hot-blooded alertness coursed through his veins, simultaneous with hers, electrifying him. The only comparable feeling was when they climaxed together during love-making. That thought lingered for moment, a flash of a mental image, enough to make him sweat slightly. Oh, how he loved it when she made that face.

"Vincent?" she was waiting, and he straightened slightly under her stare. "Don't play innocent with me. I know what I felt. I had to make a ridiculous excuse to Joe as to why I needed to leave, and I rushed home. Now, just tell me what's wrong!"

He sighed and glanced regretfully at the curtain at the far end of the chamber. "You shouldn't have rushed home, love. You have more pressing matters to handle. And I'd rather not have you rushing anywhere at the moment."

"I'm fine," she waived him off routinely. "It's the children," she was focused again. "Something's wrong with the children."

Vincent sighed, inwardly hating how good she was getting at reading the bond. "The children are fine, Catherine. Please calm down."

But it was too late, she was already at the curtain, hesitating only slightly when faced with the reality of walking into that room. But the hesitation was short-lived and, calling to Gwen, she passed into the extra chamber with ease.

Vincent was a little shocked. She had done it. She had just walked in there, no questions asked. Why shouldn't she? It was only a piece of cloth, not a brick wall. But somehow, once again, his Catherine had amazed him.

Vincent suddenly heard a relieved chorus of "Catherine!" from Arthur and Gwen. He imagined the brother and sister rushing into her arms and clinging there like a life-line. But, he was too afraid to go over and find out if this was true. What if, like with Mary, the children suddenly saw he and Catherine together and decided they didn't trust Catherine either. He couldn't bear the thought of taking her comfort and security away from them. But he did so want to be a part of the loving picture being creating in his baby's room.

He waited. The barely audible mumbling in the next room was driving him insane with curiosity. Even for all his keen hearing, he still couldn't make out what was being said. Here and there he'd catch the edge of a word, but no amount of straining could clear up the muffled conversation. What felt like forever passed, and when the curtain was finally pulled aside, Vincent tried not to look too eager. But, he couldn't manage to relax himself back off the edge of his seat.

"Go on," he heard Catherine encourage, and slowly, the three children emerged, clumped tightly together. Arthur clung to Gwen's arm, while she had a firm grip on Mora's, hugging her close to her body. The trio stopped when they found Vincent at his desk, and he, in turn, could find no words for them.

"Guinevere," Catherine's stern voice sounded, "take your brother and sister to the washroom. There's nothing to be afraid of." She was standing behind them, her face an odd mixture of anger and pity. She watched the children begin to move, a tight ball led by Gwen, holding firm to her expression when one of them looked back.

Never had Vincent felt so helpless in the face of a child. He couldn't bear the frightened glances being cast at him by the little mass, so he tore his eyes away to watch Catherine. Her green eyes held fast to the children, never acknowledging him, but he knew she felt his stare. Something was different about his Catherine, he'd felt it all morning. There was an odd, yet refreshing, resolve in her heart. It was as if she had committed herself to something, but hadn't informed him of what. Vincent was terribly confused, but utterly intrigued by this change in her. Whatever it was, she was somehow lighter for it, despite her current troubling situation. He had to take a moment to rejoice in it, whatever it was. Catherine had endured so much heartache in the last 24 months. How she had managed to keep her spirit was beyond him. _He_ had barely managed himself.

Once the siblings were out of sight, Catherine's whole body seemed to collapse. She let out a sigh, and seemed to drag her feet as she made her way over to Vincent. Like a child, she climbed into his lap, curling into his broad chest, and he hugged her close as she buried her face in his neck.

"I love you," she mumbled, throwing her love intensely through the Bond. "Do you know that? No matter what happens, no matter what anyone ever says, I love you deeper than I'll ever be able to express. Know that!" she insisted.

"I do know that," he held her tighter. "And I love you just as much."

"And you'll always protect us. You'll never let anything happen to us," she insisted, feeling him try to look at her, but not allowing him to pull away. "Promise me!"

"I promise! Always!" Vincent kissed her hair and rubbed his cheek against it. Through concerned, he had to smile. 'Us'; he knew what she meant by 'us'. She's sent it clearly through the connection. It was herself and their unborn child. She was including their baby in their future. She hadn't done that since the first time they had conceived.

Catherine sat up, looking deep into his eyes. "They're afraid of you."

"I know," he nodded regretfully.

"They won't tell me why. No matter what I say, they're convinced that these people, whoever they are, are still coming after them." Her eyes suddenly went distant and harsh. "Whoever they are, whatever it is, it's got to do with Jack Hoffman! I know that."

"You think he raped Guinevere?" Vincent asked, quiet and delicate, as if he saying it too loud it would make it true.

"No," she pursed her lips, "well, yes," she sighed, "but it's more than that. This paranoia goes deeper than a rape victim's fears. And Arthur's afraid too... it goes much deeper than rape." Catherine took a shuddering breath.

Immediately, Vincent pulled her tight against him, his face buried in hair, nuzzling the scar by her ear, and whispering, "I won't let anything happen to you. To either of you. I swear it! And no matter how much those children fear me, I will protect them just as ardently!"

A small smile passed her lips and, slowly, Catherine turned her head, capturing Vincent's lips with her own almost immediately. They kissed softly at first, without need for anything more than comfort and love. But, ever so slowly, the kiss grew deeper and more passionate, their tongues suddenly becoming involved and their grips becoming more possessive.

Eventually they came up for air, their foreheads pressed together, kissing softly here and there, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm themselves. With a smile, and another small kiss, Vincent slid his large hand along her belly, stroking it softly. "So," he kissed her briefly, "is there something you want to tell me?"

Catherine looked down at his hand, a sheepish grin forming. She bit her lip and brought her eyes back up to meet his slowly. Those beautiful emerald spheres were glistening, sparkling with the beginnings of tears. "We're having a baby," she shrugged.

"Yes," he teased, "I've known for quite some time. When did _you_ find out?"

"I'm sorry," she looked away again her tears quickly taking form. "I'm so sorry. I've just been so afraid. I couldn't bear the idea of going through the disappointment again. I thought, maybe," her tears fell onto his hand, which kept up its soothing strokes, "maybe if I tried to ignore it, if I tried to not care... maybe it wouldn't hurt so much this time."

"Shh," he soothed and dipped his head to quickly capture her lips, salty with tears. "Do not apologize, Catherine. You have nothing to be sorry about. You have been through so much, I am amazed by your strength every day! I only wonder one thing." Her wet eyes met his, and he smiled as he tucked her hair back behind her ear. "What's changed suddenly?"

She smiled through her tears, even though her face muscles strained against her. "Um... Gwen had something of an emergency last night. We talked and... I suddenly realized..." she laughed at herself, "I'm a mother."

Vincent smiled and kissed the crook of her mouth. "And you have been for a long time."

"And it suddenly occurred to me; I'm no different than any other woman. I have this precious time in which to be a mother to this baby. I can't know, can't guarantee, that nothing will go wrong, but I can acknowledge this time that I have... however long or short it may be." Catherine released breath, trying to regain composure and locked eyes with Vincent. "Does that make sense?"

Vincent watched her for a moment before he could no longer contain himself, and he kissed her desperately. He clutched her close as she responded wildly with a hint of amusement at his reaction. When they broke apart, he tenderly traced the edges of her face with his fingertips. Eventually, his hand dropped and he was stroking her stomach again, as if rubbing a baby's belly. "I love you," he whispered, his forehead pressed against hers. "How are you so wonderful?"

She shrugged and giggled softly, her own hand on top of his now, following his motions on her stomach. "Just lucky, I guess. I've got you, haven't I?"

Gwen looked on silently. Her eyes were cold and focused. She clung tight to her siblings, resolved not to lose them, but her attention was on the couple before her. Their foreheads pressed together, their hands swirling against her stomach, and all the while whispering and kissing softly, in no particular pattern. They were just sitting there, smiling. They were just happy. Gwen's placid expression broke, and her brow furrowed into something like confusion. Vincent was Catherine's baby's father. He had been the father to both of the children she had lost. Gwen had known this last night, it wasn't as if Catherine had held anything back, or lied. But, the reality of the two of them, sitting there together, smiling, touching her stomach, it was just a little shocking.

Gwen was terrified of Vincent, there was no question about that. But there was something about him holding Catherine, the thought of him being with her, knowing that she _wanted_ to have _his_ baby... it made her question and ponder. Vincent seemed to be the source of all Gwen's nightmares, and the subject of all Catherine's dreams. Her head was swimming with conflict.

Arthur was shifting glances at his sister, then back to the couple. She could feel his gaze, his anticipation, his nervous energy, but she couldn't stop staring. Finally, Mora wrapped both her arms around Gwen's and began bouncing on her toes, smiling, and emitting a low-pitched squeal through her teeth.

Catherine quickly looked over her shoulder to find the siblings and smiled wide. "Ah!" she wiped her eyes clear of what was left of her tears. "We've got company."

"We've _had_ company," Vincent corrected with a grin of his own.

Catherine quickly brought her gaze back to him, her smile holding true, but mentally scolding him for not informing her of their audience. "Feeling better?" she returned her attention to the children.

Arthur nodded shyly, but Gwen gave no response. She only stared, her face blank and her eyes wary. She wouldn't have moved if not for Mora's incessant jumping. The raven-haired girl was also nodding now and she suddenly shouted, "BETTER!" She landed for the last time, then cuddled her sister's arm close and set her head on Gwen's shoulder. But still, Gwen would only stare, without a flicker of emotion or physical change.

With his arms wrapped so intimately around Catherine, Vincent felt more confident with the children. Carefully, he leaned forward, giving them his most pleasant face. "Would you like to eat now?"

Mora was the first to jump forward, a bold smile on her face, but never releasing her sister's hand. "Pep! Pepperoni! Gwen, pepperoni!"

Gwen held Mora's hand and wrist to be sure she didn't try to get any further away from her. Gwen's eyes fixed on Catherine as Mora squealed and giggled. Catherine was sending her a clear, silent message. Perched on Vincent's lap, her arms tangled around him, Gwen read her face clearly. They were a package deal. Either she took Vincent, or she didn't get Catherine... and, oh, how she desperately wanted Catherine. She still wasn't sure why, but from the first moment Gwen saw her in the courtroom, she knew that she needed this woman. She was desperate for a mother, and Catherine gave that to her so easily. She wouldn't and couldn't lose her, for her own selfish reasons. And in those few seconds of Catherine posing this ultimatum, Gwen examined Vincent.

Everything about him was different from anything she'd ever known. Physical appearance was only the surface. His eyes were so clear and genuine. His voice held no lofty, holier-than-thou, tones; but was soft and earthy and honest. He _was_ large and foreboding, but with Catherine tucked into him so, he looked more like a warm, welcoming blanket. And then, finally, Gwen took in his continual response to her; he was afraid of her. _She_ had the power, _she_ was in control. She wouldn't have to do anything she didn't want to. He would follow _her_ rules of behavior.

Gwen breathed and took in Catherine's waiting expression before letting go of Mora and stepping forward herself. "Thank you, Vincent," she struggled, dropping her eyes for a moment, then regaining control. "We're all very hungry."

Both Vincent and Catherine smiled, him with relief, her with pride. Though nervous, and showing it, Gwen made eye contact with both of them in turn, and they each shared a moment of mutual understanding with the girl. Catherine checked in on Arthur quickly, who had fallen in behind Gwen. But, even he seemed to have gotten the message. He met her eyes and smiled shyly, then found Vincent and, though his smile tucked nervously into the corners of his mouth, he breathed deeply and sat a little taller.

"Pepperoni! Pepperoni! Pepperoni!" Mora insisted while she bounced.

"Oh my goodness," Catherine laughed as she swung her legs off of Vincent and climbed to her feet. "Yes, yes, yes! Pepperoni! Pepperoni! Vincent," she joked as she wrapped a motherly arm around Mora, "we have to get some pepperoni in this girl before she starves!"

"Well, by all means, if it's an emergency!" he played along, and quickly jumped up to follow them out of the chamber.

* * *

><p>"Now, you three have a very special job!"<p>

The large man with a kind face, standing on the other side of the table, passing plates full of food to the siblings, seemed to them a type of Santa Clause. His laughter was low and deep, and his eyes sparkled as he smiled at them. He handed them food as if it was sacks full of toys, or maybe that's just how it felt to the hungry children whose stomachs ached together at the delicious aroma wafting from their plates.

"This is a new recipe," William announced officially, smiling at the children's eager faces. He winked at Catherine and Vincent as he continued. "Now, it will be up to you three to make sure that you talk nice and loud about how delicious it is as everyone comes in for lunch. Shout it if you have to. Father is usually one of the last to arrive, so if you three do your job, he should get here and find everyone talking about how good this meal is." William leaned close, only barely holding their attention away from the smells of the meal only inches from them. "Father doesn't take to change very well, you see? Just ask Catherine and Vincent here, they'll tell ya! But, I think, if you three make enough buzz, he may just take to this before he even tastes it." He stood back up, staring down at them again with his great Kris Kringle face. "So... can you do it?"

Gwen and Arthur nodded profusely, not fully acknowledging what they had agreed to, but agreeing none-the-less. Mora, however, had already shoveled a large spoonful of corn into her mouth and she grinned as she shouted, "Good food! Catherine," she insisted, "come eat! Good!"

William laughed, low and hearty. "Well, she's got it! You two could take a lesson from your sister."

But his advice was too late, the younger siblings had already taken the cue and practically buried their faces in their plates.

"Vincent!" Mora shouted again after swallowing a mouthful of chicken. "Eat! Not pepperoni, but eat!"

It was a meal unlike any other they had ever had. They would have shouted it to all of the tunnels, as William had asked, if their mouths weren't continually full of the delicious food. Gwen occasionally would glance nervously at Vincent, feeling his eyes on her. It was a warm smile that greeted her, but her distrustful gaze didn't see that, nor Catherine watching both of them closely.

It did, however, catch her eye when Vincent stopped watching her and began speaking to Catherine. They spoke low and quiet, but Gwen could hear bits and pieces, and she listened even harder as the room began filling with people.

Vincent wrapped an arm around Catherine's waist and pulled her close. "How bad was it this morning?"

"As expected," she shrugged, turning away from the children and back to him. "When I left, they had Jack Hoffman in custody for questioning. I hope they keep him there for days," she remarked bitterly, her jaw clenched. A glance back to the children, buried in their food, and then she was back to Vincent. "Joe is probably going crazy that I'm not answering him. He's paged me four times since I made it to the tunnels. I don't even want to think of how many times since I got here."

"How _did_ you get away?" he inquired with a mischievous smile.

She gave him a tight smile, her eyes sparkling, "I told him I had cramps."

"You did not," he laughed softly, his forehead falling against hers.

"No," she giggled, "I told him I got a call that someone had seen the children and I was going to check it out."

"Not a complete lie, I guess," he shrugged.

"Don't try to justify it, love," she rolled her eyes. "There is going to be much more lying for a long time before all of this settles down."

"Ugh!" a loud voice protested from the other side of the table. "Can't you two do that in your chamber? People eat in here." Cullen dropped, unceremoniously, onto the seat across from them, a large grin etched across his face. "We get it, you're not fighting anymore. Hooray, no more awkward dinner conversation." Before either Vincent or Catherine could interject a witty come-back, Cullen's attention was diverted. "Who's this?" he waived his hand at the siblings, his easy smile and handsome face being the only thing saving him from his somewhat rude outbursts.

The children, their attention immediately taken away from their food at Cullen's exclamations, glanced between each other, and then to Catherine. Mora delved back into her food, uncaring of what may happen next. But Arthur shrank a bit into Gwen, and she examined Cullen with nothing like the harsh eyes she gave Vincent.

"This is Morgaine, Guinevere, and Arthur Maillar," Vincent announced officially. "They arrived last night. Children, this is Cullen. One of the best craftsmen down here."

"Good to meet you!" Cullen reached an enthusiastic hand across to Mora, who didn't look up, but he waited.

Gwen bit her lip, watching Cullen and her oblivious sister, and quickly apologized. "Sorry, she's autistic."

"So..." Cullen's eyes locked with Gwen's, but his hand never wavered, "does that negate manners?"

Gwen sat back a bit, surprised by his frankness, considering his words, and watching his intensely dark eyes. Finally, she leaned into her sister's ear and whispered. Mora's eyes crept up to Cullen's face, but she quickly tucked her chin into her chest, shyly. However, to Gwen's amazement, Mora reached out and shook Cullen's hand. He smiled at her, and quickly released her, moving on to her brother and sister as fast as he could.

"Cul! Cul!" a brilliantly blonde toddler cried as she raced (as best a toddler can), to Cullen, climbing immediately into his lap.

"Hey!" his large, strong hands embraced the child, holding her securely on his lap, his grin shining almost as bright as hers. "It's my kitty-Cat! Where's your momma?"

"I'm here," Lena fell into the seat beside Cullen with a sigh. "Cat," her eyes immediately locked onto her mischievous daughter, and the dinner roll half-way to her mouth, "did you ask for that?"

"I handed it to her," Catherine immediately took the blame for her little namesake.

"And did you say thank you?" Lena wasn't convinced of that innocent little face yet.

Cat's brilliantly blue eyes shyly slid to the side and she tucked her chin. "No," she mumbled, but immediately began giggling uncontrollably when Cullen buried his face in her little neck, growling "say thank you!", and tickling her without mercy.

Vincent's keen sense caught Gwen and Arthur's sudden nervousness. They were tense, watching this man teasing and tickling this baby in an effort to make light of her lesson in manners. But Vincent could feel the siblings' discomfort, and when he glanced at Catherine, he found her keeping a close eye on their reactions as well. Even when Cat finally thanked Catherine, and everyone settled, Gwen and Arthur were still on edge.

"So," Lena began, dropping her dark disciplinary tones, and adopting her usual light musicality, "no more fighting?" She posed the question abruptly, giving the impression of simply expecting a positive response.

Both Catherine and Vincent smiled, Catherine tucking deeper into his arm as she answered. "No more fighting. We're very sorry for making you so uncomfortable."

"It's just weird," Lena shrugged, resting her hand on Cullen's knee as his arm reached around her. "You two never fight. If _you're_ fighting, what does that say about the rest of us?"

"Lena," Vincent shook his head futily. No matter how many times they spoke to her, Lena always seemed to judge her relationship based on Catherine and Vincent's.

"Lena," Catherine usurped the conversation, expertly curbing it, "this is Morgaine, Guinevere, and Arthur. They came down last night."

"Oh," Lena's attention was immediately diverted while she blindly guided Cat onto her lap, "hello! It's nice to meet you. How are you adjusting?"

Gwen and Arthur glanced at each other. The instinct was to be polite and respond positively... but they _weren't_ adjusting, and they knew it. They had just spent their morning hiding in the baby's room. They were still afraid of each person who made eye contact with them. There was no adjustment. Brother and sister looked to Catherine, but she was waiting for them to answer as well. Both children shrugged non-committal, suddenly becoming oddly interested in their plates.

Catherine released her breath, trying not to emit a sad sigh, but gave an encouraging smile. "We've had a rough start, but things are starting to look up, huh?" she answered as she tucked Mora's dark hair behind her ear.

The children didn't answer, and Lena got the message, nodding and dropping her voice a little lower. "Mary never mentioned new children coming Below," she spoke directly to Vincent and Catherine, allowing the siblings to be out of the hot-seat for a moment. Cat slid off of her mother's lap and began scampering from dweller to dweller, seeming to have something to say to each of them.

"They were unexpected," Catherine answered quietly, glancing at Vincent with accusatory eyes.

"Oooh," Cullen leaned into Lena, smiling his mischievous smile, "one of those. Well, Morgaine, Guinevere, and Arthur, as one former stray to another; welcome!"

Gwen couldn't help but smile, her eyes shyly snaking up to his and then quickly averted. "Gwen'" she mumbled, "just Gwen."

Cullen nodded, his dark eyes sparkling at hers. But his attention didn't leave the siblings and after a moment he whispered loudly to Lena, "How sad, honey, the other two are mute."

Lena immediately slapped his leg, fire in her eyes and her jaw tight. "Stop that! It's all right if they're not ready to talk yet." She turned back to the siblings, her expression instantly softer, "It's perfectly all right if you're not ready to talk."

Gwen and Arthur glanced nervously at their onlookers. They just didn't know what to say, how to respond. Mora finished her lunch and cuddled into Gwen's side, her head on her little sister's shoulder, and producing her cat's cradle from a pocket.

"Vincit!" Cat cried, suddenly at his side, clawing her way into his lap, giggling as she went. "Vincit! Look!" The little toddler proceeded to perform the signs for 'food' and 'please' in Sign Language as Vincent had taught her.

"Very good, Catherine," he praised, handing her one of his carrots, which she took eagerly.

"More!" she demanded, bouncing in his lap, and then signing 'please' again.

Vincent handed her another carrot, but Catherine suddenly tugged on his hand for him to look her way. He found her staring at Mora, the girl's precious piece of twine hanging, useless, from her hand as she repeated the signs for 'food' and 'please'. With her head still tucked into her chest, Mora watched Cat's hands intensely, her own long fingers mimicking the toddler, over and over.

Vincent slowly, with half of his attention on Gwen to gauge her reaction, reached across Catherine and handed Mora one of his carrots. She took it from him as slowly as he handed it to her, her face unmistakably scrunched in confusion as to why she'd been given such a thing.

"Well," a new voice sounded, and settled in front of the children, "there you all are! We were missing you this morning." Father set his food on the table, and paused when he found everyone staring at Mora.

Suddenly, as if snapping out of a trance, Arthur looked up at Father and proclaimed loudly, "William's new recipe is really good, huh Gwen?"

Gwen exerted only enough energy to turn her head and stare incredulously at her brother. After a beat, Cullen grabbed Lena's hand and, with a twinkle in his eye, gaped, "He speaks!"


	2. Part 2

Three Months Later

**Down in Larissa's Lagoon**

**The skies, they never look blue**

**'Cause someone spiked the rain**

**With a little extra juice**

**She thinks she's being followed**

**Any minute she'll be swallowed**

**Someone spiked this rain**

**With a little extra juice**

A much faster, much smaller, body came around the corner and nearly collided with Catherine. She instinctually put her hand out, low, not only to catch the child, but also to protect her significantly protruding belly. "Whoa there, munchkin! Where do you think you're going?" she backed the boy toward the chamber entrance a step or two.

"Sorry, Catherine," Arthur apologized hurriedly, and only then did Catherine see the raccoon clinging to the boy's shoulder. His arms were laden with a circular metal piece, nearly as big as him, with various tools piled on top. "I'm working on something with Mouse!" he explained. "We're almost done!"

"You know you have classes tomorrow, right?" Catherine studied him.

"Yes," he rolled his eyes. "Vincent already told me to be back early."

She held a finger up to stop his continual attempts of advancement. "And you'll listen for the pipes?"

"Yes! I know. I have to hurry, Catherine," the boy made it past her, but was immediately stopped.

"Wait a second," Catherine watched him turn around begrudgingly. "You might need these," she smiled suddenly, producing a small plastic box, with a handle, from the top of the stacks of folders she carried in her other hand.

"Tools?" Arthur guessed, his eyes wide as he reached up to take them reverently. "For me?"

"_If_," she pulled them away suddenly, "you are extremely careful with them. They come back to me if you are careless with them. Understand?" she eyed him.

"I understand," he nodded, reaching for them again. As he did, his sleeve fell, revealing a gauze bandage around his wrist.

"Arthur, what is that?" Catherine stared at the bandage, horrified.

"Just a burn," he shrugged nonchalantly. "The wire connected to the engine sparked. Vincent fixed it. I'm okay," he insisted.

Catherine spent a moment in slight shock, but finally shook her head at the boy, smiling in spite of herself. Never before had she seen a child with such a tolerance for pain and injury. She handed him the box of tools with an incredulous laugh that she couldn't stop. "Please be careful, Arthur." He nodded, and waited to be sure she wouldn't stop him again. "Well go on, hurry up," she laughed. "You have to be back early, you're losing time."

Arthur spun, happily. He gripped the metal bowl tight, and the raccoon gripped him even tighter, as he raced down the tunnel toward Mouse's workshop.

Catherine giggled to herself as she entered her chamber, dropping her briefcase and the folders into a chair. She began stripping off her coat as she smiled at Vincent, sitting at his desk, watching her. "That boy could break every bone in his body and wonder if a mosquito bit him for all the pain he feels."

"He's nothing if not resilient," Vincent agreed. "How was your day?"

"All right," she sighed with a nod, sitting on the bed and beginning to take pins out of her hair. "Things are starting to calm down. The 'Maillar' trail has gone cold, and with all the other cases coming through, their trimming back the investigation." Catherine shook out her long, honey-colored hair, running her fingers through it, enjoying the release of pressure on the scalp. "The children are still listed as runaways, though."

"Catherine," Vincent sighed, "you're not going to be able to change that."

"I know," she mumbled miserably. "I was just hoping I could make them hold Jack Hoffman a little longer; keep surveillance on him. Something! I know I can find something to put him away if I just had time."

Vincent didn't answer. Instead, he turned the conversation to something more productive and pressing. "Did you talk to Joe today?"

Catherine glanced at him shyly. "No," she mumbled.

"Dearest, you can't put it off anymore. I'm surprised he hasn't said anything to _you_ yet!" he admonished.

"Probably too afraid of offending me," Catherine smirked.

"Just my point," he insisted. "You need to tell him. You're already showing. He'll figure it out eventually, and what will you say to him then?"

"What do I say to him now, Vincent?" Catherine suddenly burst. "Joe, just so you know, I'm going to need three months off because I'm having a baby with my secret husband underneath the city?"

"Well," he began delicately, "the beginning of that sounded all right." Catherine rolled her eyes and fell back on the bed. Vincent quickly fell in beside her, speaking low and soft. He was getting rather good at containing her mood swings. "How have none of your friends discovered it yet?"

"Well," she sighed, "politeness mostly. Their afraid of me thinking their calling me fat. Which, incidentally, is how I'm beginning to feel, by the way."

"You are not fat," Vincent immediately set his hand on top of her belly and purred into her ear. "You are absolutely beautiful!"

Catherine turned her head, an irrepressible smile on her lips. "You are too indulgent in me, sir."

"Never!" he whispered. "I will indulge you until you are too full for anything more."

"I think I'm pretty full now," she gestured to her stomach that she was starting to have trouble seeing past.

"Why don't you want to tell any of your friends Above, Catherine?" Vincent asked honestly, her name slipping from his lips like music.

She sighed, wanting to deny him, but refusing to lie to her beloved. "The questions," she answered simply. "I dread the questions more than anything else. I hate knowing that I will have to lie about you to them, now more than ever. I hate the idea of them thinking that this is just anyone's baby. Because it's _not_," she swallowed the lump in her throat. "It's _ours_. It's _our_ baby, and I want, so badly, to shout that to the entire city." Catherine shrugged sadly. "And I can't."

Vincent kissed her softly, feeling the Bond stir with her impending tears, but feeling something else drumming alongside as well. Something being withheld from him. He gently rubbed her belly; _their_ child; and whispered again. "But that isn't all, is it?"

Catherine averted her eyes, biting her lips, and finally shaking her head. It took her a few moments before she responded, and when she did, her voice was low and raspy. "I don't want to cause a fuss if..." she stopped herself. "If... if nothing should come of it."

"Catherine," he sighed sadly.

"Vincent, we don't know," she spoke with a control she pulled from deep in her gut. "We just don't know if..." she hesitated, but then forced herself to say it, "if this one will live. We can't be sure. And," she intercepted his attempt to interrupt, "I don't want to get any more peoples' hopes up than I have to." Vincent kept his mouth closed, only staring at her, heartbroken. "You do understand, don't you? Please Vincent? I need you to understand."

"Yes," he stroked her belly as his other thumb traced her forehead, "I understand, my love."

Suddenly, both of them jumped. They were frozen for a moment, unsure of themselves, unsure of what had just happened.

"What was that?" Vincent gazed into Catherine's eyes, which now began to sparkle with tears.

"A kick," she whispered, and then looked to the ceiling with an amazed laugh. "A real kick. The baby kicked!"

Vincent released breath heavily, in awe, completely struck out of rational thought. He climbed to his knees and placed both hands on Catherine's belly. After a moment, Vincent gasped as something again collided against his hand and then retracted. He laughed in amazement, running his hands softly across the spot that the foot had extended from. Catherine was laughing too, tears flowing from the edges of her eyes and into her hair.

"Hey guys, has anyone seen Mora?" Gwen emerged from the joining chamber, not really paying attention to what she was walking in on.

"Gwen," Catherine suddenly shouted, "come here! Quickly!" she called through her laughter.

Gwen hesitantly made her way over, still on the lookout for her sister. She had only been able to see Vincent from where she had entered, but now that she came around the desk, she found Catherine, flat on her back, making sounds that she couldn't decipher. Immediately, she was alert, ready to run for Mary or Father at the word "go". But, instead, Vincent, with the largest smile she'd ever seen on his unique face, grabbed her wrist in all his excitement and pulled her closer. She flinched, perceptibly, chastising herself even as she did it. She had been working so hard at not being afraid of him, trusting him, but, when she was taken by surprise, there was no suppressing it. She was thankful to see that Vincent was too excited to notice her recoil, and she forced herself to trust him as he led her hand to Catherine's belly.

Her palm stretched wide over the growth and she waited, confused, and growing more nervous as Vincent refused to let go of her wrist. Then, something happened; a tremor, a vibration, something had collided with her hand. She was so shocked, and she pulled away so violently, that Vincent was forced to let her go.

"Did you feel it?" Catherine seemed to beg as she giggled and swallowed her tears almost simultaneously.

Silently, Gwen reached out and lightly ran her fingers over the spot that had pulsed. As if she feared something would bite or trap her, her fingertips barely touched the swell of Catherine's stomach. She tensed when Vincent seemed unable to contain himself anymore, and quickly wrapped his hands around the base of the bump.

Catherine suddenly inhaled, making Gwen jump again. "Oh! Vincent! Vincent, do you feel that?"

Vincent nodded, seemingly unable to speak, and then glanced up at Gwen, his smile seeming to grow, if that was possible, making him look somewhat like the Cheshire Cat. Again he grabbed her wrist, but she was more prepared this time, and crushed her hand against the base of the swell. Gwen's eyes grew as something put pressure against her hand and then moved.

Vincent watched her, his free hand at the top of the swell. "Did you feel it? It's the baby! The baby is moving!" he seemed to be attempting her wide eyes and slacked jaw.

There was another tremor, and then, very distinctly, an oblong shape with the tiniest of appendages, that seemed more like a web, pressed into the very center of her palm. Catherine emitted a grunt and shifted, and the shape retracted, and then pushed again. A foot. the child's foot had extended into her hand.

"Sed miraculum," Gwen whispered without thinking. She never saw Vincent and Catherine exchange puzzled looks as she knelt in front of Catherine's legs and began whispering fervently to the pulsing belly. "Deus benedicat puerum istum, et corum qui vivere illi."

For a moment, Vincent and Catherine almost forgot about the baby. Gwen, who had been a part of their everyday lives for the past three months, who had been through something of therapy with them to make her transition easier, the girl who they had forced to engage in conversation every day; this twelve-year-old girl had literally fallen at their feet and began praying in another language. When she was finished, she looked up, breathing deeply, and sheepishly made eye contact with Vincent, and then Catherine, once she had finally climbed up into a sitting position.

"Hi," Catherine greeted dryly, her eyebrows raised. "You want to tell us what that was?"

"It was Latin," Vincent answered immediately, his smile gone as he continued to watch her in amazement. "I'm just curious where you learned it."

Gwen shrugged, a nervous knot forming in her gut as she gazed up at the couple who watched her intensely. "Jack took us to church almost every day."

"Really?" Catherine leaned forward, absently stroking her belly, as if soothing the child. "_Every_ day? That seems a bit much."

Gwen shrugged again, suddenly feeling trapped under Catherine's gaze. It was as if she was back in that blinding courtroom, feeling as if the whole world was watching her, as Assistant District Attorney Catherine Chandler cross-examined her.

"What did you say? Exactly?" Vincent, ever the scholar, vied for the girl's attention over Catherine, ever the lawyer.

As if it was her only recourse, Gwen shrugged non-commitally and let the silence fall. When their eyes didn't move from her, she dropped her head and mumbled, almost inaudibly, into her lap. "It's just a prayer. We'd say it when someone within the faith was pregnant. It's a blessing."

"Not at first, though," Vincent tilted his head, watching her even more intensely. "You said 'miraculum'. 'Sed miraculum'. A miracle."

Gwen blushed and tucked her head lower.

"You speak Latin?" Catherine let herself be distracted by her husband for a moment.

"Words here and there," he granted. "Most of what I know is based off of what I know of the other romance languages; French, Italian, Spanish."

Still a little heady from the events prior, Catherine toyed with the idea of making some flirty comment about his beautiful voice whispering French in her ear later that night. She pushed it away, forcing herself to behave. But her reason was too slow for her imagination, and her mind suddenly reeled with the mental image. The baby pushed lightly on her ribs.

"I'm sorry, Gwen. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," it seemed to be his key phrase when dealing with young Guinevere these past weeks. "It's just that... you see, there's a statue down near the Great Hall. I've never known a time that it wasn't there, and not even Father seems to know who placed it. It has an inscription at the base, in Latin, and I haven't ever been able to translate it. Father has a vast library, and I have quite a collection myself, but the material on the Latin language is certainly lacking. Would you be willing to translate?"

Gwen raised her hazel eyes to meet the expectant pair, waiting for her, and felt something well up inside her. Pride or arrogance? Or maybe some strange fear? Perhaps it was just a sense of purpose that she had been lacking for many weeks now. Mora and Arthur, and their safety, had been her highest priority from the moment she could comprehend 'responsibility', maybe even before. Now, down in the tunnels, Arthur was making friends, learning to build things with Mouse, and suddenly he'd begun running to Catherine, and even Vincent, with his problems. Mora had sign language lessons with Vincent every morning, which seemed to significantly progress her communication skills, and she now moved freely through the tunnel hub, finding things to occupy her. This place had rendered Gwen obsolete. But, the thought of being of some use, of being the only one able to perform this task; it made her heart race and her mind process everything much faster.

"Would you...?" Vincent posed the question again tentatively. "Would you mind looking at it?"

"No," Gwen's face grew into a smile she couldn't stop, "no, I don't mind. I'd love to!" she jumped to her feet and waited for Catherine and Vincent to do the same.

There was a pause between the couple, and quickly, Catherine looked between both Vincent and Gwen's eager faces. "Now?" she asked.

"I don't see why not," Vincent tilted his head. "And Gwen can see the Great Hall while we're down there. It's almost finished preparations for Winterfest." He suddenly took note of his wife, leaning back on one arm, making lazy circles on her belly with the other. "But you don't have to come, love. If you'd rather stay here and rest, that's more than all right."

A moment of horror flashed in Gwen's eyes. For all of her work to not be afraid of Vincent, she still refused to be alone with him for any length of time.

"No, no," Catherine waived her free hand, not seeing Gwen's sigh of relief, "I'd love to come. You two just threw me for a loop for a second, with all your enthusiasm. By all means, let's go to the Great Hall!"

On their way down, they did find Mora, tucked into a large wicker chair across from Lena, concentrating so hard on the spread of puzzle pieces before her that she refused to look up and greet them. It was only when Gwen, with a mischievous smile, bent into her ear and whispered, "Benedicat tibi deus, ut domi foco," that Mora mumbled the response, "Qui morantur intra". Lena, Vincent, and Catherine were stunned, but Gwen only kissed her sister's forehead, as if completing a ritual, and then led Catherine and Vincent back out into the main tunnels, continuing their journey.

"So, you said that you learned this in church?" Catherine seized her opportunity once they were away from the prying ears of the main hub. She had fallen back beside Gwen, following Vincent lower into the earth.

"Had to," Gwen shrugged, more interested in the new territory she was now exploring. "all the prayers, all the sermons were in Latin. It's all pointless if you don't know what you're saying."

"Mora and Arthur, their fluent too then?" Catherine fought for the girl's attention; a losing battle.

Gwen shook her head, skipping ahead of Catherine with all her unconstrained excitement. She tried desperately to see around Vincent without actually coming up beside him.

"Wait, Gwen," Catherine tried to keep up, but she was not as agile as the girl, presently, "Mora and Arthur _don't_ speak Latin, but _you_ do? Why is that?"

"Well," Gwen was still trying to see, but reluctantly answered, following her personal pledge to never treat Catherine unkindly, "Mora doesn't know what she's saying. She can recite it back to you, but it means nothing to her. And Arthur wasn't allowed."

That statement hit Catherine like a rock wall she hadn't seen herself walking into. "Arthur wasn't allowed?" she repeated, stunned, the only thing keeping her moving was the determination for answers. "Why wasn't he allowed, Gwen?"

Suddenly, the girl slowed down. She ceased her bobbing up and down for a vantage point, and kept a steady pace suddenly. It was almost reverent , the way she walked, and the way she glanced over her shoulder at the woman she'd come to admire and adore. "Arthur... couldn't go to church. He wasn't allowed."

"Who wouldn't allow him? Jack? Jack wouldn't allow him?" Catherine caught up swiftly and was probing the girl with her eyes.

Gwen nodded silently, fighting to keep her mouth shut; a losing battle. "Arthur... he... Jack always said that he was impure. Only the pure and righteous may enter the walls of a church, you know that, Catherine!" Gwen whispered assuredly.

Catherine was too stunned to answer. She could only follow and watch Guinevere speaking of her beloved brother in such an awful way.

"Jack taught me Latin. He tried to teach Mora... he tried so hard, but it was no use. But, Arthur... he didn't want Arthur contaminating the learning process," Catherine guessed that was a direct quote, "so, he wouldn't let him in the room during lessons."

"Where did Arthur go during lessons, Gwen?" Catherine posed the question slowly, tentatively.

"Well," Gwen paused and then shrugged, "he usually locked him in his bedroom closet and then locked the bedroom to be sure he couldn't hear through the doors."

"Where was your mother?" Anger and shock seeped unexpectedly through Catherine's voice. She couldn't stop it from permeating her entire body. She was amazed at how these smell droplets of information were so suddenly enflaming her. She was trying desperately to control it; a losing battle.

Gwen shrugged, especially quiet, and mumbled, "In lesson with Mora and me."

"What?" Catherine exploded, unexpectedly. She looked up toward Vincent, but his pace never wavered. Through the Bond, she could feel Vincent sending her encouragement for a cool head and a calm body. She kept following.

"Mom believed in Jack with all her heart. She loved him. Jack told us that Arthur was impure, so she believed him, as much as it hurt her." Gwen allowed only a second of silence before she quickly defended, "But, it's okay! Many men are found too impure for the faith. There aren't many in the church, so it's mostly women anyways. Only a few men are accepted within the walls."

"Guinevere," Catherine began, trying to keep her voice level, "do you think that your brother is impure?"

The young girl had to think about that for a moment. She dropped her head, tracing her path as she walked, her face contorted in confusion and nervousness. Finally, she lifted her eyes and, without looking at Catherine, answered, "He's my little brother. I've always taken care of him. He's never done anything to anyone. I have no reason to call him impure."

Catherine let all of those thoughts and feelings sink in, not only to herself, but to Gwen. Mentally, she was encouraging the girl; 'think! Don't just accept. Question! Come up with your own decisions!' And once that web of concentration seemed deep enough in Gwen's features, Catherine asked, "You did this... _every day_?"

For a moment, Gwen didn't respond. But then, she lifted her eyes, and with the simplest, purest expression, she answered, "Doesn't everyone?"

"Here!" Vincent cried out before Catherine had a chance to respond. "It's right over here!" Like a child finding a prize, he raced toward it, the torch he'd brought along, held high over his head.

Gwen spared a moment for eye contact with Catherine, but then quickly sprinted off, following Vincent with equal excitement. For the first time, Catherine took in her surroundings. they were, indeed, just outside the winded staircase which led to the Great Hall. It was incredible how the conversation had entranced her so much that she hadn't even known how she'd gotten there. Slowly, she moved forward, following the light of the torch, far ahead of her, the thoughts of the previous conversation consuming her.

Gwen approached the statue slowly, in awe of it before she could even make out the details. It was a woman, sitting cross-legged on her marble platform. Her large pregnant belly rested neatly in to hollow her legs made and she seemed to be cradling it with one strong arm. Her head was dipped downward, but her face tipped up, as if, Gwen noticed as she stepped alongside Vincent, she were greeting the onlookers with her sweet and kind eyes. Her cascade of long hair twisted and curled and fell gracefully along her shoulders. Gwen stepped closer, noticing the details on the toga-like dress that the woman wore, and was grateful when Vincent followed with the torch held close. Gwen reached out slowly, and ran her fingertips along the belly which had been engraved with the image of the globe.

"Gaia," Vincent whispered, but his voice echoed. Gwen gave him a confused look, her hand never leaving the statue. "Mother Earth," he explained. "Ancient civilizations called her Gaia; the woman who gave birth to the world. That much I do know."

"But..." Gwen's brow furrowed deeply, "I thought _God_ created the Earth."

"According to Christianity and Judaism," he nodded. "But, comparatively, Christianity is a brand new religion. Every religion has it's own idea of how the world came to be. Did you know that Native Americans believe that the Earth is actually carried on the back of a giant turtle?" Gwen couldn't help but giggle and Vincent smiled. "It's true! And the ancient Egyptians believed that their God, Atum, created a hill from the water and then built the Earth around it. Every religion has its own theories," Vincent watched Gwen trace the curves of the statue's face. "And if you look closely, you'll find that they all have at least one common similarity in their stories."

Gwen turned away from the statue suddenly, her hand ever-present on the stone engraved belly. Her brows were knit together and her puzzled face questioned Vincent without words.

"What is it?" he asked, moving closer.

"Don't you see it?" Gwen glanced at the statue and then studied Vincent again. He held the torch higher and then scrutinized every inch of the stone. "No," Gwen put her hand to his chest and pushed him back a few steps, startling him with her boldness. "Now do you see?" He held the torch high and squinted in the shadows, but Gwen only smiled and shook her head, turning back to the stone Mother and gazing up at the kind eyes that seemed to stare back. "It's Catherine," she declared, barely loud enough for Vincent to hear.

His mouth dropped open as he suddenly took in the statue in a different way. He sometimes had a difficult time separating the emotional life of art from its academic aspects. He'd seen this piece so many times, lived with it all his life, been consumed with its transcription, that her had forgotten to take in what the statue meant to him, how it made him feel. Suddenly, he saw what seemed so wondrous to Gwen. This stone Gaia did bear a striking resemblance to Catherine. Her frame, her eyes, the way her hair fell down her shoulders and arms, and most especially the expression on her face.

"Do you see it?" Gwen didn't bother looking at him. Her hands rested on Gaia's belly and she gazed up into the statue's face.

"I see it," Vincent nodded in amazement. "I most certainly see it, Guinevere."

"See what?" Catherine stepping up beside her husband and watched the young girl practically clawing at the statue.

Vincent took a breath to explain, but then stopped himself. He knew his wife, and even if he were to tell her what they were talking about, she would deny it vehemently. But he could not deny the similarities especially now that she stared up at him with the same expression that Gaia had given him all his life.

"It's you!" Gwen bounced back to Catherine's side. "Do you see? She looks just like you."

Catherine stared for only a moment before wrapping an arm around Gwen's shoulders and chuckling. "So, what are you trying to say? All pregnant women look the same?"

"You have to admit, Catherine," Vincent took a step toward the stone, "the resemblance is astonishing."

"You're being silly, both of you," she brushed them off, but couldn't help being drawn to those warm, kind eyes. "Gwen, honey, what does the inscription say?"

Immediately deterred, Gwen slid out of Catherine's arm and onto her knees before the marble platform and ran her fingers under each word as she read. "Tantum in corde tenebris lux Dei potest invenire. Only... only in the heart... heart of darkness can you... can anyone? A person, whatever," she shook her head. "...Can a person find the light of God."

"Only in the heart of darkness can one find the light of God," Vincent rephrased. "Quite an old ideal."

"I see it all the time," Catherine's soft tones echoed. "Some people have to hit rock-bottom, so to speak, before they ever find a way to turn their life around."

Gwen spun where she sat and found Vincent and Catherine watching her with some sad expression. Something between remorse and pity that she didn't quite understand, but felt that she should. It unnerved her more than she cared to acknowledge. "It's like how the world was created too. First there was darkness, and God said, 'Let there be light'. But," she gazed up at Gaia, and then to the living twin before her, "I don't get it. What is a quote, in Latin, about God, doing under a pagan statue?"

Vincent fought the urge to shake his head at the girl. He wondered where she had learned the word 'pagan' in the first place, and what she thought it meant. "Gwen, in Christianity, God is a name. In the old religions, God was a title. A being of great power who possessed immortality was a God, and there was usually more than one. But, every religion has one God who rules over all the other Gods and that God is usually the creator. Religions are all interconnected in one way or another, Gwen. And Latin, it's an ancient language, far older than most others, older than even Christianity. The term 'God' is very general. It is simply the 'higher power'; the 'creator'."

Gwen's face contorted in confusion, but she asked no more questions and she turned back to the inscription as if she could verify or disprove Vincent's words by reading it again.

"Well, a lifetime of mystery is solved," Catherine's cheery voice declared. "I think this could be called a full day."

"It's certainly been informative," Vincent agreed. "Guinevere, thank you so much for your help today."

Gwen nodded, swinging around slowly to sit against the marble block. Her eyes were still narrow and her brow tightly knit together.

"Is everything all right, sweetheart?" Catherine watched her carefully.

"Can I still see the Great Hall?" she asked, a purely innocent face greeting the adults.

Vincent smiled slightly and reached a hand out to the girl. "I did promise that, didn't I?"

Gwen hardly hesitated. She took pride in simply taking his hand and letting him help her climb to her feet.

"Come," he started past the statue, "the staircase is just over here."

"You two go on," Catherine called. "I think I'll stay here with Gaia for now."

"Oh, Catherine," Vincent immediately stopped, "I'm sorry, you're tired. Maybe another time..."

"No! No," Catherine waived at them, "you two go, I'll be here. And who better to look after me than my look-alike, Mother Earth?" she joked.

Vincent glanced quickly between Gwen and Catherine, attempting to make a quick decision. "We'll only be a moment," he assured his wife and she waived him away with a crooked smile.

At the nearby archway, Gwen stopped. The staircase leading downward would take them out of Catherine's eyesight. Gwen's stomach tightened at the knowledge that in just a step from that spot, she would officially be left alone with Vincent.

"This is the Winded Staircase," Vincent presented as if he were a tour guide. "The doors to the Great Hall are just at the end of it. It's not very far." He was having to raise his voice over the whistling and whipping of the inexplicable wind.

"Vincent?" Gwen's voice cracked, but she tried to make herself seem calm. "What if you just gave me the torch and you stayed here?" She glanced back over her shoulder, the warm glow of the tunnel walkways bouncing off of Catherine's skin. "You can keep an eye on both of us. Is that okay?"

Vincent breathed deeply. It was not a concern for him or Catherine that prompted the suggestion and he knew it, but he couldn't deny the appeal. He couldn't stop the fiercely protective instinct that had only grown stronger through Catherine's miscarriages. For all of his optimism, this child scared him just as much as it did her. Another deep breath, and his eyes fixed on Gwen. "You hold tight to the torch," he instructed, handing it to her carefully. "Keep close to the wall, the wind can be deceptive. At the bottom there is a bracket for the torch so that you can use both hands to open the door. Don't be upset if you can only open it a little. It's very heavy. Can you do all of that?" She nodded vigorously. "I'm right here if you need anything," he assured.

Gwen nodded shortly, attempting to avoid eye contact, but connecting just long enough to give him a nervous and sincere, "Thank you", before setting off down the stairs.

The way was dark, even with the flame of the torch that ebbed and flowed with the constant wind that whipped around her. Gwen ran her hand along the rock wall, nervous and uncomfortable already with the treacherous path. The leather laces of her tunnel dress were trying to work themselves out of the bow-tie they'd been twisted into; the excess reaching out to whip her chest and arms. Her curls gathered in her face and then swung upward, moving with the inconsistency of the wind. About half way down the long stairway, Gwen began regretting her decision to go alone. She couldn't see the bottom, and she could barely make out the outline of Vincent at the top. She, by-no-means, wanted Vincent down in the darkness with her, but she was really wishing she had waited until Catherine had felt up to the trip. What had possessed her to climb down here anyways? It was just another big empty space, not dissimilar from all the other big empty spaces she'd seen Below, probably. _Why_ had she wanted to see this so badly? Why had she wanted to climb deeper, lower into the Underworld? Why was she still descending now?

The wind whipped hard, and Gwen was pushed against the rock wall. Her head made contact with an extended boulder and the impact knocked the wind out of her for a moment, making her drop the torch. It fell on the stairs, extinguishing the last bit of flame that the wind hadn't finished. Gwen sunk to the ground, crying hysterically before breath ever came back to her. And when it did, Gwen screamed and screamed with all her might as all of the darkness closed in on her.

* * *

><p>Vincent watched Gwen descend, unsure if he was worried or grateful. He didn't worry about her ability to climb down; children younger than her, including him himself, had made the trek many times. But he worried about the obvious reason as to why she had asked to go alone. She had been working so hard for three months to not be frightened of him. But, whatever had happened to the Maillar siblings had struck Guinevere the hardest. Both Mora and Arthur had happily, willingly begun to trust Vincent, and the tunnels in general, within the first week. But not Gwen. Whatever happened to her, it was horrific, to the point of becoming debilitating. She would have to talk about it eventually, and Vincent, Catherine, and most especially Gwen, dreaded that imminent day.<p>

He glanced over and found Catherine, his sweet Catherine, leaned against the Gaia statue, her belly protruding almost comically in her leaned-back position. He tried his hardest not to obsess over her, not to worry, but when had that ever worked in the past, much less in her current state? She was healthy, and the baby was healthy, and no one seemed to be able to say that enough, but Vincent couldn't help but shake the feeling that she wasn't as healthy as everyone wanted to believe. They hadn't talked about it, mostly at Catherine's insistence, but they both knew that the baby's kicking today was approximately four weeks late. Father, Mary, and Peter had been assuring them for weeks that they'd be feeling some sort of movements any day. But lately, they'd begun to worry, and they'd been keeping it from the expectant parents. However, both Vincent and Catherine knew that something was beginning to seem wrong. But, how could they deny the excitement of a, by all accounts, perfectly healthy baby making its presence known.

Catherine suddenly looked over and caught sight of her husband at the top of the staircase. No torch to be found, no curly-haired tween beside him. Vincent could tell, even if the Bond weren't pounding at him all at once, just by the way she pushed herself onto her feet; she was upset. She began moving towards him, her hands thrown in the air, prematurely preparing for the argument that she'd doubtless win.

But, a strong wind whipped up through the staircase, blowing in Vincent's face, and suddenly the little glowing light on the stairs was gone, and a second later panicked screaming sounded from the passage, carried effortlessly on the wind.

Vincent immediately dashed into the blackness of the staircase, hearing Catherine behind him screaming for Gwen and racing to the entryway. He groped in the dark for only a split second before his keen eye-sight adjusted and he made his way quickly down the stairs. Gwen's screams didn't stop as he drew closer, and he could hear Catherine through the Bond calling out for both of them in terror. He found Gwen huddled against the rock, wailing and screaming, her arm swinging wildly at some invisible foe, and for a moment, Vincent feared coming near her. But the decision was made in a heartbeat, and he scooped Gwen in his arms as quick as he could, pinning her protective arm against him. She thrashed for only a moment before her free hand made contact with his chest. Immediately, she gripped his vest, screaming and crying all the while, and attempted to tuck herself deeper into his arms.

"I have her, Catherine!" Vincent called up to his wife and the pounding in his ears subsided.

Vincent climbed the stairs, skipping steps just to go faster, as Gwen continued to scream and cry against him. He tried to soothe her, but her cries were too loud for her to hear him.

He reached the top and twisted out of the way of Catherine, who would have taken the girl from him if he would have let her. He dropped to his knees instead to give her access to the child, but Gwen wouldn't let go of Vincent, no matter how he tried to release her.

"Is she hurt? Is she okay?" Catherine was kneeling in front of them faster than she knew was possible. "Gwen, honey, it's okay," she stroked the girl's arm. "It's okay now, baby."

Gwen opened her eyes so briefly that it was amazing to think she'd even gotten a glimpse of Catherine. Nevertheless, she suddenly detached from Vincent and swung herself at Catherine, screaming and crying anew.

"You're okay, baby," Catherine rocked her. "You're okay now. It's all right."

"It looks like she hit her head," Vincent searched her carefully for any injuries. "She might have a bump, but she should be all right otherwise. We might want to take her to Father, and make sure she doesn't have a concussion."

"Why was she even down there alone?" Catherine raged at him while simultaneously rocking the inconsolable girl.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Catherine. I thought she would be all right."

Catherine considered unleashing her fury on him, but quickly redirected it to focus on soothing the girl in her arms who just wouldn't stop screaming. "All right," she rocked the girl and her voice seemed to rock with her, "you're all right now. Guinevere, honey, listen to me. It's all right. Shhh..." But still Gwen wailed with terror, her wet face never leaving Catherine's chest. "Gwen, calm down, darling. Everything's okay. Everything's fine. Take deep breaths, sweetheart." And still the child screamed, unceasingly. It was almost as if she were screaming just for the sake of screaming, and Catherine and Vincent exchanged concerned looks before Catherine pulled the hair away from Gwen's face to try to see if they had missed any injury. "Gwen!" she called a bit more commandingly. "Gwen, I need you to calm down. You're going to make yourself sick. Gwen!" Catherine shook her more than she rocked her now, trying to pry the child's face away from her chest. "Gwen, calm down! You're fine, honey! You're safe!" But still Gwen continued to scream while Catherine and Vincent began to panic.

Finally, in a desperate and booming voice, Vincent yelled, "Guinevere, stop!"

The girl, startled, whipped her head around and choked on her last sob which caused a coughing fit that she couldn't stop. Catherine alternated rubbing and patting her back as she soothed her quietly, rocking her lightly as well.

Softly, Catherine assured her, "It's all right. You're safe. We've got you. You're safe."

With a deep inhale, Gwen gazed up into Catherine's eyes, her fingers wrapped tightly in the folds of the woman's clothing. Between the screaming, crying, and coughing, the colors popping in her vision made it difficult to see anything, but Catherine was clear. Her long hair cascading down her arms, cradling a child against her pregnant belly, with her head bent down, but her face occasionally tilting up to find Vincent. Her kind, warm eyes searched Gwen, and for all that this woman meant to her, she may as well have been Mother Earth holding her at that moment. Gwen clung tight to the only mother she had, and begged of her; "Please, don't let the demons take me! They're trying to find me! Please don't let them take me away!" Gwen saw Catherine look up at Vincent, and then the child couldn't control herself anymore and lost herself in quiet sobs against Catherine's chest.

"You're all right, Gwen," she was being rocked again. "No one's going to take you away. You're safe, sweetheart. You're safe."

* * *

><p>"She's asleep," Catherine fell onto the bed beside Vincent, her shoulders hunched and her long hair falling in her face.<p>

"What did she say?" Vincent slid closer, gently rubbing her lower back.

"Nothing," Catherine shook her head and set her eyes against her palms. "Not a word except, 'don't let the demons take me'. She didn't even ask about her brother and sister. She just let me tuck her in." She dropped her hands and twisted awkwardly, setting a hand on the other side of Vincent, leaning her back against his curled knees. "Are they all right for the night?"

"Arthur is staying in the dorms, and Lena said Mora could stay with her tonight," Vincent propped his head on his hand.

Catherine nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears, and beginning to untie the laces of her muslin dress. "I thought she was getting better, Vincent. I wanted her to be better," she mumbled into her chest and pulled off the first layer.

"We couldn't fool ourselves forever," his voice soothed. "We don't even know what this child has gone though. How could we dare to hope that it would just fix itself?"

"It's us," she agreed. "We've failed her. She's always been struggling and we've just ignored it. We let her fight this all on her own." She gazed into his eyes that held the same guilt that coursed through her. "What do we do now, Vincent?" she pleaded.

He sighed, absently playing with the satin of her slip. "We wake up, and we have breakfast, and then we sit down with her... and we try to begin healing."

"And if we can't?" she shook her head. "If there's nothing we can do for her? What then?"

"Then we find someone who can, Catherine," he insisted, earnestly. "We don't give up hope. We don't ever give up on her!"

She shook her head, her hair falling free as she looked away from him. "This day..." she sighed.

"Catherine," he caught her attention, an unmistakable positive energy suddenly glowing from him, "our baby kicked today."

Her soft green eyes gazed down at him, and she couldn't stop the shy smile that crept across her face. "Our baby kicked today," she confirmed, her arms circling her belly possessively. "I didn't think it would ever happen, Vincent." He grinned, and wrapped an arm around her ribs to pull her down beside him. She twisted and rolled to face him, her belly supported by his abdomen and her head on his shoulder. "I suppose we have to start thinking of names again," she chuckled. "We haven't done that in a while."

"Something special for this one," Vincent stroked the growth at his waist. "Something that stands for this child, and all that we are, and all that we've endured." She grinned and shifted against him, as if she could possibly get any closer. "Catherine," his voice was suddenly more somber and serious, "it's time to tell Joe."

Catherine tilted her head, finding his eyes, traces of shame and sadness emanating from her own. "Yes... I know," she sighed. "I won't say that I'm particularly looking forward to this conversation."

"I know," he acknowledged. "What if we make it somewhat easier, then?" Catherine inquisitively set her chin on the hand against his chest. "Instead of lying, or having to be horribly vague... tell him as much as you trust him with."

"What?" she smiled, despite her confusion.

"Catherine, you need to talk to someone. Someone, besides our family, needs to know where this child comes from, and you need to be the one to tell them. So, tell Joe as much as you feel comfortable telling him. We both owe him at least this much. He's been a good friend to both of us, whether he knows it or not. _I_ want him to know." As soon as he thought her smile couldn't get any larger, he spoke soberingly again. "And tell your friends too," true enough, her smile began to fade. "Maybe not as much as you tell Joe, but I want you to tell them why you'll be leaving work." She looked away, and Vincent hooked a finger under her chin, pulling her attention back to him. "You need this, love. You've been in such pain for so long, it's not enough to admit your pregnancy to yourself. You have to admit it to your friends as well. You have to make this real for yourself or you may never be able to. No matter how healthy or happy this child is, you'll always be waiting for something catastrophic. You'll live your life in the fear that you've been forcing on yourself for five months now. Do you understand?"

Catherine nodded breathing hard. She swallowed, processing everything he'd just told her. A slow and hesitant resolve worked its way through her, until she breathed easier and propped her head up on her hand. "A boy or a girl, Vincent?"

He smiled at her, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. "I'm not telling," he proclaimed in a whisper and tried to roll away from her.

But, Catherine caught his shoulder and pulled him back, struggling to get a hold of his wrists, giggling softly as she pinned him to the bed and straddled him to keep him still. "I refuse," she growled through her giggles, leaning her face close to his, "to spend the next four months in torturous suspense, Vincent."

The poor man couldn't help himself, she was so close, and they were so intensely positioned that he lifted his head only slightly and captured her lips with his own. It was a simple enough kiss in the beginning, but it soon deepened and took a much more passionate turn.

Catherine broke the kiss with a pop of lost suction, shaking her head and breathing heavily. "Uh-uh," she shook her head even as she involuntarily licked her lower lip and suddenly tasted him there. "You won't get away with this that easily. You think just because my hormones are going in sixteen different directions that you can just distract me...?"

Vincent captured her again, becoming so involved now that her grip loosened as she melted into him, and he pulled his hands away in order to run his fingers through her thick locks of hair. She tried to pull away again, but he held her close, kissing her deeper, and her resistance seemed to fall away.

Finally, Catherine gathered enough willpower to separate from him, actually sitting up and away this time. "Maybe you can distract me this time, but what are you going to do when I ask you tomorrow? You can't put me off forever."

"All right," Vincent shrugged and sighed, "just tonight, then?"

Catherine smiled at him, despite herself, and then leaned over slowly, sliding across the length of him, and capturing his lips gently.

* * *

><p>Gwen sat, wrapped in her blanket, against the edge of the rock, watching Catherine and Vincent through the slit in the striped curtain of the baby's room. They were so strange together, so different from anything Gwen knew. They moved in perfect sync; if one shifted, the other responded at almost the exact same time. It was like they shared a mind.<p>

Gwen watched them closely, knowing that she shouldn't, but so curious that she was past the point of caring. They just looked so odd, and so perfect at the exact same time. Everything seemed so simple between them, as if there were nothing more natural in the world. It was the trust that struck Gwen the hardest. She could see, they were never uncomfortable in one another's hands.

They rolled and changed positions and Gwen was amazed again. There was no struggle, no violence, it was only an adjustment. They didn't speak, but it was as if they didn't need to. After all, they were one mind, they knew what the other was thinking.

Gwen's breath stopped as she caught a very distinct look when Vincent and Catherine locked eyes. She was mesmerized and infinitely confused. It just didn't make any sense. No fear, total trust, silent communication all at once, and it never stopped, even when Catherine's head fell back and the eye contact was broken. Gwen tilted her head, her brow furrowed; Catherine was smiling. Gwen pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as if it could blockade her from the flood of emotions hitting her all at once.

She swallowed hard and shifted, watching closely as the couple collapsed against each other. They curled into each other, and Gwen could swear that some invisible bubble had formed around them. They were impenetrable suddenly; perfection encased in glass, not to be disturbed. They were both smiling and they began mumbling imperceptibly to each other.

Slowly, Gwen slunk back to her bed, crawling begrudgingly into it, knowing that it offered her no comfort. It was cold, and she shivered into it, though it did not close around her and protect her as the couple in the next room had. The room was dark and Gwen fell asleep to the sound of hushed giggles and whispers that she swore were taunting her.

* * *

><p>She had dreamt of him again... but she had been able to control it before. This one had gripped her subconscious and refused to shake loose. Everything she saw had been so vivid. She had relived that night in her dream so many times, but never so intensely before.<p>

She had been alone... in the darkness, fear coursing through her blood. She got up to get herself a drink, hoping that it would calm her. She stopped to be sure Mora was asleep and had found him there. She remembered every sound, every color, texture, smell. It was impossible to shake off even as she woke from the dream and gained coherent thought.

The chamber was so dark. The shadows danced across the walls, cast by the single candle between the beds. She shivered, not from the cold, but from fear. "They're hidden in the shadows. They strike when you are comfortable and vulnerable in your beds. You cannot escape them, you can only hope..." her whispered recitation trailed off. She knew the ending, but couldn't bring herself to say it.

Shaking from head to toe, she climbed out of bed and crept to the doorway connecting to Catherine and Vincent. She peeked in, a childish urge to run to Catherine and beg to sleep with them almost taking her over. She saw Catherine roll and balance precariously on her side against Vincent. She jumped when she heard an odd moan and then realized it was just Vincent. Just Vincent.

"Pray," she whispered. "You just pray that you can run. Pray that you can hide. But, for all your hiding, the demons will find you. Keep clear of the darkness and shadows... for that is where the demon waits."

There was stirring from the bed. Vincent shook his head to clear it and peered over Catherine, searching. She jumped back, letting the curtain fall back in place. Had he seen her? Heard her? She leaned against the wall trying to catch her breath. The shadows danced across her skin and she tried to rub them away to no avail. Out of options and terrified, she checked the adjacent bedroom; Vincent had fallen back to sleep. Slowly, carefully, she tip-toed out and into the tunnels.

She looked left and right, cursing herself for her stupidity, but she couldn't stop the fear that overtook her body. With a deep breath she turned right and bolted down through the tunnels.

"Salvation is the only way. Salvation will deliver you from the shadows. Beg forgiveness, beg salvation." She stopped outside his chamber and breathed. "Only I can grant you passage through the darkness."

* * *

><p>Soft footsteps shuffled through the sand and rock, closer and closer to the entrance of the chamber. Catherine smiled, knowingly, dipping her head lower over her paperwork until her visitor decided they wanted to be noticed.<p>

"Catherine," a deep timbered voice called hesitantly.

Catherine looked up quickly, the older voice not being what she had expected. She found Cullen standing at her door, looking worried and nervous. She tilted her head, concern immediately set into her features. "Cullen, are you all right?"

"I need to speak with you and Vincent," Cullen seemed to be hesitating where he stood, as if he wasn't sure if he even wanted to be there. His pleasant smile was noticeably absent, and some strange shame seemed to have replaced it.

"Well," she set her work aside, immediately giving her full attention, "Vincent's speaking with Father at the moment. He shouldn't be too long. He's coming back to meet us for breakfast. If you want to..."

"Where is Gwen?" he asked abruptly, leaning in and looking around the chamber, refusing to allow his whole body to enter the space.

Catherine, slightly taken aback, looked around herself, and then found his nervous face again. "She's asleep. She had a rough day yesterday. She's been dead to the world ever since."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sorry?" Catherine leaned toward him, a hand supporting the belly she still wasn't completely used to.

"Catherine..." Cullen paced a bit in the tiny space he confined himself to, "I don't think I can wait for Vincent. If I don't say this now, I don't think I'll ever have the courage to say it."

"Cullen," she climbed to her feet, "what's going on?"

"At some point, in the middle of the night, Gwen came to my chamber," Cullen swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry, what?" Catherine's face contorted with the flurry of confusion that hit her.

"Last night. In the middle of the night, she came to my chamber," he stepped forward cautiously. "I didn't... nothing... nothing happened, Catherine! But she... Gwen is sick, Catherine. She needs help. I didn't know what to do, so I just... I told her to go home. But, I knew I had to tell you. I know you've been taking care of her, for the most part. Cathy," he came closer, "I think something really terrible happened to her. She needs help."

Catherine held both hands up to stop him, her head dropped in concentration, and shaking her head slowly. "Wait, just... just hold on a second," she suddenly made a bee-line for the baby's room, stopping just outside of the curtain. "Gwen?" she called harshly. "Guinevere! Guinevere, are you awake?" Nothing. "Guinevere, answer me, right now!" Nothing but eerie silence greeted their ears, and Catherine immediately held a finger up to Cullen in a gesture for him to wait where he was before she dashed into the small chamber. Almost as quickly as she'd disappeared, she reappeared, suddenly red in the face and frantic. "She's gone," she stated, not specifically to Cullen. "We have to find Vincent," Catherine rushed up past him, across the threshold, and out into the tunnels.

Their pace was swift and unyielding, enough that Cullen glanced nervously at Catherine as much as he dared. A few times he opened his mouth as if he'd protest her flurry of activity and stress. But, even if he had, she wouldn't have heard him. Her mind was traveling at ten times the speed of her feet, and the determination in her features immediately put off any reproachment.

"Catherine?" a call came from a distance, and the figure rushed towards them.

"Vincent," Catherine called back and doubled her pace. They nearly crashed together when they met. Catherine groped at his sleeves as he found a good grip on her elbows, steadying her, and watching her fight for breath. Cullen fell to the side of the pair, wishing he could hide or leave. He was visibly desperate to not be a part of this situation

"I felt your fear," Vincent shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "What's wrong?"

"Gwen," Catherine gasped out. "She's gone! The middle of the night, she went to Cullen's chamber," Vincent's eyes shifted to the cowering man, and then back to his wife. "He told her to go home, but... she's gone, Vincent! She's hurt, and she's frightened, and she's gone!"

"Where would she go?" Vincent's mind raced.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "Above? I don't think she'd go into the catacombs. She's too frightened of the darkness."

"You're right," he nodded, "she would try to find light. She would go someplace familiar. Still, that doesn't tell us where she is Above." His eyes suddenly turned back to Cullen sharply, and the man attempted to mold himself against the rock. "Did she say anything? Anything that might give us a lead?"

"I..." he gaped deftly, "I don't remember. I was half asleep, and she kept trying to hold onto me. I told her to go home, and then... I don't know," he sighed. "She said something about me being the only one who could save her from demons, or something. She was ranting. But it was... it was like biblical ranting. Like she was possessed or something."

Catherine brought her hands to her mouth, her breath heaving in her chest. "Oh, Vincent..." she whispered, and then her eyes grew wide and she started past the men. "I have to find her," Vincent caught her elbows again, spinning around with her, and keeping her in place. "I have to go! I have to find her! She's going to hurt herself, Vincent! Let go!"

"Catherine, stop! We have to think!" Holding her still, Vincent found Cullen again, "Would you start contacting Helpers? Tell Father what's happened, and start organizing a search party. Tell them to look in parks, near churches; bright, safe places." Cullen nodded and took off as fast as his feet could carry him, happily away from the panicking parental figures. "Catherine," Vincent turned back to her, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Vincent, I have to go up there!" she pleaded. "I have to find her."

"Catherine, I don't want you leaving the tunnels," he spoke harshly only to be sure he had her attention. "I want you make sure that Morgaine and Arthur are still here. I don't think she would take them, she knows that they are safe here. But, I want you to make sure."

"But, Vincent-" she tried to interject.

"_And then_," he insisted over the top of her protest, "I want you to sit down with them and find out anything you can about where she might have gone. If anyone would know, it's them, understand? And then, you will wait here."

"If anyone should be Above looking for her, it's me!" Catherine insisted quickly, determined to get her point in.

"No! I want you Below and safe, and attempting, as best you can, to put as little stress on yourself as possible. And, should Guinevere decide to return, I want her to come home to _you_! I want her to immediately know that she's safe, and so far, you are the only person who makes her feel that way. You need to be here."

Catherine breathed slower, forcing control over her body. She nodded shortly, her eyes downcast, and then she found her husband's again. "Where will you be?"

"I'm going to be part of the search party," he told her calmly.

"Vincent, it's broad daylight!" she nearly shouted.

"I know that, Catherine. But, just in case we're wrong, I'm going to take Mouse and Jamie down to the Catacombs to search there. Once it's sunset Above, if no one's found her... I'll go out after her. She'll be more frightened and vulnerable at night... it might be easier to find her." Catherine was unsuccessfully trying to control her breathing, and she was visibly fighting tears back. "Love, we will find her," he assured. Vincent released her arms slowly, as if she would either collapse on the ground, or she would try to rush past him, and he was going to be sure that neither happened. When they were both standing on their own, their eyes still locked, the Bond flowing freely between them, Vincent began nodding, and Catherine nodded along with him, their breath calm and slow. "All right," he spoke softly, "find Morgaine and Arthur. Do not leave the tunnels. Send a message on the pipes if you learn anything new." Catherine nodded slowly, and moved past him, her hand trailing along his arm.

* * *

><p>The clouds shifted and suddenly the shadow of the nearby tree brushed Gwen's arm. She suppressed a scream down to a squeal and slid away from the shady area. She held her arm close, her eyes wide and fearful, making her way to the fountain that was bathed in glorious sunlight. She sank onto the edge of the stone structure, cautiously reaching out with her other hand and touching the water that flowed a muddy sort-of brown from the statue at the fountain head. Slowly, her gaze rose to find a large, looming stone angel staring down at her. Her frozen robes billowed around her and she watched Gwen with a mixture of curiosity and remorse.<p>

Gwen dipped her fingers in the freezing water, her eyes never leaving the statue. She took hold of her arm with her wet hand and began scrubbing the area that the tree's shadow had touched. "In umbra vivunt," she whispered to her arm. "Et percutiam vos es vulnerable. Ora pro salus!" Her eyes rose to the remorseful angel, her damp finger's touching her own lips. "Agnus Dei Angelos, libera me!"

"Gwen!" a voice called, carried on the wind. For a moment, the girl was sure it was the angel speaking to her, and her heart ached for those robes to billow out and close around her, shielding and protecting her.

"Gwen!" the voice called again. "Gwen! Are you there? Come home, Gwen!"

Gwen's breath quickened. It was not the angel, and it was drawing nearer. It was coming from the shadows in the patch of trees nearby. Gwen slid off of the fountain, clutching her tunnel nightgown against herself. She dodged around, behind the angel, silently begging it for protection.

"Gwen! Gwen, please answer me!"

The voice was too close now, and Gwen immediately bolted down the path, out onto the street corner. She was flooded with noise and people. Some of them looked at her, but she knew what they were all thinking. They were trying to find the best way to take her away. Both streets she faced were at a shadowy angle, but the sunlight made a path at the end of the next block to her left. Gwen held onto herself and ran at full speed through the crowd, flinching at each arm and shoulder she made any contact with. She emerged at the end, and the sun hit her with full force. She fell into a niche between a bench and a heavy metal garbage can, tucking her knees into her chest and holding onto herself as tightly as possible. "Tantum possum tibi iter per tenebras. Tantum possum tibi iter per tenebras. Tantum possum tibi..."

* * *

><p>"Arthur, do you hear what I'm saying? Your sister is missing!" Catherine raged at the little boy who was curling deeper into the corner of Vincent and Catherine's bed. "She is very ill, do you understand that? I need you to talk to me!"<p>

"Gwen told us not to say anything!" he insisted, pathetically, and tightening his face to brace for the storm of Catherine's wrath.

"I know," she tried to soften her panicked tones. "I understand that. But, I also know that she is in danger. She's missing, Arthur, and it has something to do with what happened to you three. You have to tell me!"

Arthur tucked his face into his knees, shaking his head. He put his arms over his head, attempting to hide as best he could, looking as if he were protecting vital organs from her. She knelt beside the bed slowly, and his body went ridged with fear. She laid a hand on his shoulder and his whole body shuddered.

"Arthur," she called softly, "munchkin, I'm not going to hurt you. I won't beat you or harm you in any way. You are perfectly safe." His eyes slowly emerged from his arms, and she made sure he met a calm and kind face. "I only need you to talk to me. Guinevere is out there somewhere, all alone, and I need to know where she might be, because I don't want her to get hurt either. Understand?" There was no answer from the boy. "Do you know how dangerous the New York City streets are, honey?"

Arthur slowly pulled his arms away from his face and sucked in breath as if he'd just inhaled water to his lungs. With calm and honest eyes, Arthur answered, "Yes, I do." Catherine sat back, watching him, waiting. "So does Gwen. We've known the streets for a long time now."

"Jack?" she guessed. "Did he make you do something?"

"I don't do it anymore!" Arthur insisted, his eyes suddenly wild and terrified. "I swear! I'll never do it again!"

"Arthur! It's all right, sweetheart. Just tell me what happened," Catherine soothed, stroking his face as if she could wipe away the blood that had risen to his cheeks. "Jack made you go out. What were you doing?"

"Stealing," Arthur mumbled shamefully. "Just little things at first; out of pockets and open bags. But then… it got bigger. If I didn't come back with enough stuff, he'd… sometimes he'd…"

"He would hit you," Catherine finished, sympathetically.

"Sometimes Gwen could stop him," he quickly defended. "Jack liked her best, so sometimes he would listen to her. But… not always."

"What was Gwen doing, Arthur? Was she out stealing with you?" Catherine was already too upset to pretend that they weren't pressed for time.

"No," Arthur dropped his head, his brow furrowed. "She asked Jack to let her… so that she could take care of me, but… he always said no. He always said that they would look after me just fine; that she had other work to do." Suddenly his head popped up, his eyes wide and frightened. "It was _them_!" he exclaimed as the realization hit him. "Jack sent them to watch me! That's why no one ever caught me! Cause they didn't, Catherine! No one ever caught me stealing!"

"Arthur," Catherine caught his attention, "you need to tell me now, who are 'they'? Who were you running from that night we found you?"

Arthur swallowed hard, glancing around as if someone would hear him. He leaned in and whispered to her, "The men. The ones from Jack's church. They did whatever Jack told them too. Gwen was always afraid of them, but she wouldn't tell me why. I think Gwen thought that they weren't loyal to God, like we were. I think she thought they were working with the demons. I know about God," he stated proudly, "cause Gwen used to give me lessons when Jack wasn't around."

"If she wasn't with you, Arthur," Catherine was determined to keep him on-track, "then where did she go when she was on the streets?"

"I don't know," he shook his head. "I asked her all the time, but she wouldn't tell me. She said that it was a secret between her and God. I would always get really angry with her because she would always tell me about her secrets with God, but she would say that this secret was too important to share." Catherine sighed, sitting back, and visibly searching for any usable information. "But," Arthur leaned forward, as if he were trying to make up for something, "she never went out alone. Jack always took her. Except when the woman came. I could never really see her, but she was really tall… she smelled weird. Gwen didn't like her because she was always poking at her. And she'd say weird things like, 'not long now'. Gwen said she was a doctor or something."

Catherine sighed, dejected. Seven hours and it was as if nothing had been accomplished. For everything Arthur had shared, it was clear that only Gwen would know where or why she had gone. "Arthur," Catherine began, rubbing her eyes, "you said Gwen would give you lessons. What can you tell me about the demons?"

"They live in shadows and darkness," Arthur shuddered. "They hunt you. You can never escape them. They always know where you are, and they wait for the moment when they can steal your soul and drag you down to Hell. Don't you know all of this, Catherine?" He watched her curiously.

She watched him in slight shock, amazed at the amount of fear that poured off of the boy at the mere mention of these monsters his head had been filled with. "I…" she struggled with a response, "I didn't."

"Catherine," a voice suddenly called from the doorway, and Vincent ducked his head into the chamber. He was covered in rock dust and sweat, and his face was haggard with worry and stress. "It's dusk."

Catherine glanced back at Arthur, but the boy had told her all he knew. She had nothing. Nothing but a disturbing tale, and the vague description of men she assumed had been following the children in their former lives. Her gaze came back to Vincent, their sad eyes linked, and she shook her head.

"Vincent," a call came from the baby's room, and all three turned to find Mora, leaned against the frame of the rock, her eyes shifting away from the adults and back again. "203," she mumbled barely loud enough for them to hear. "203… 203 Houston," she glanced up at Vincent, and then bolted back behind the dividing curtain.

Catherine snapped back to Vincent, her excited eyes silently begging him to move. "203 Houston street," she elaborated quickly. "The lower east side! Go!" She nearly smiled as Vincent dashed out of the chamber and through the tunnels.

* * *

><p><strong>Down in Larissa's Lagoon<strong>

**Her guests, they sleep in separate rooms**

**But her father comes to tuck her into bed**

**She's lost her mind**

**Got no control**

**And there's nowhere else to go**

**When her father comes to tuck her into bed**

Gwen tucked her knees up to her chin, curling into herself. She wasn't sure where she was, or what building's steps she was trespassing on, but it didn't really concern her. She was too preoccupied with the shadows that were creeping toward her as the setting sun began dipping below the city skyscrapers. These steps faced the west, and that was all she cared about as she basked in the last few moments of sunlight.

But it would be dark soon, and she would be alone. Gwen turned her head to look down the street. The corner was busy with people rushing home from work. They were trying to beat the nightfall too. Were they just as afraid? Did they know what Gwen knew? Were they running from the demons too?

A teenage couple huddled together against the wall of the McDonalds at the end of the block. A tin bowl lay at their feet, but they never called out for charity. They only made eye contact with certain passersby, smiling politely at them. Gwen tucked close to the railing and stared, fascinated by the young couple. The girl shifted, tucking her large wool coat tighter, and caught sight of Gwen. They stared at each other for a moment, each wondering about the other's circumstance. The girl curled into the boy's chest more, and shifted herself for a better angle, revealing the large growth at her abdomen. Gwen sat back, startled. Cautiously, she tried to peer more closely at the girl.

Was it Catherine? She was almost certain that it was. The girl had much darker hair, and was obviously much younger than Catherine, but… perhaps, if she wished hard enough, the girl would become Catherine. Maybe she would climb to her feet suddenly, and come running to Gwen and wrap her up and make her safe. Maybe everything was okay after all.

"Guinevere?" a male voice called. "Have you been here this whole time?"

Gwen was frozen, fear coursing through her blood like ice, drowning her. Finally, out of curiosity or just habit, Gwen picked up her head, and turned to look up at the man. His frame was back-lit by the setting sun, creating this beautiful orange haze about him. His dark hair and eyes shined at her as his smile immediately captivated her. Just as he always had been.

"Guinevere," Jack Hoffman beamed at the child, stretching his hand out to her, "I can't believe I've found you!" Gwen only stared, but Jack's hand never wavered, and his smile never faltered. "Do you remember me?" Gwen's nod was barely perceptible, but it made Jack's smile shine even brighter. "Of course you do. I'm so glad I found you! Come, darling. Come with me, it'll be dark soon." Gwen didn't move, and immediately, Jack leaned down to her level. "Come, Guinevere, I can protect you."

Slowly, shaking, Gwen reached out and took Jack's hand. There was no hesitation; Jack locked in his grip, pulled her to her feet, and tucked her close against him. He was whispering something about his worry and thankfulness, but Gwen didn't hear. He pulled her down off of the steps, and began walking her down the street to the corner. When they passed by the young teenagers, Gwen locked eyes with the girl again, praying, willing her to be Catherine. The girl's long face and sad eyes met Gwen's and both silently begged for the other's help.

The sun was well below the buildings now. It was growing darker, and Gwen gripped Jack's clothing tight in her fists. He took her around the corner at the next block, and they fell into the heavy, oppressive shadow of the building. Gwen whimpered, tucking closer to Jack, and his grip tightened around her.

"Not to worry, my princess," he whispered. "I will protect you."

Gwen nodded and buried her face in his side. She refused to look. She refused to even be tempted. She only moved with Jack, letting him guide her. And he did protect her. No one touched her, not even one person on the street knocked into her. He had formed a bubble around them. Even the ocean would part for them at his request. Pressed against him, Gwen was safe, impenetrable. She breathed easier, she was safe just as she had seen Vincent and Catherine the night before. She had a shield from the world that was all her own now. Jack would never deny her, or take it from her. He wanted nothing more than to protect her, to keep her close against him. It was an indescribable comfort to suddenly have again..

"Nearly there," he assured as they turned another corner.

How far had they walked? What was she doing again? Where were they going? Why wasn't she running? Screaming? Why was she even here? Why wasn't she Below with Mora and Arthur, Vincent and Catherine? A patch of darkness fell across her closed eyes, dampening the rays of sun that had penetrated her limited vision, and Gwen flinched. Had she fallen asleep and simply continued walking with Jack? It didn't seem possible. But, she was so exhausted that she didn't spend much time doubting the possibility.

They took a sharp turn and Gwen looked up only enough to notice that they had turned off a main street and were moving down an alleyway. She shivered, not from the biting cold, but from the knowledge that alleys were practically breeding grounds for shadows, and therefore, demons. Someone shouted somewhere ahead of them, and quick footsteps followed, moving toward them, but Gwen was too frightened to look up.

"Jack!" a male voice gasped, happily, breathing heavily from his running, as he skid to a stop in front of the pair. Gwen ventured a look at the sound of a familiar voice. He was a tall man with a stern, drawn face. He was large and muscular, and even when he smiled, his green eyes never showed true happiness. And now, he smiled at Gwen, though his eyes held something darker. He reached out and ran a single finger from the corner of her eye to the corner of her lip where it lingered momentarily. "I thought you might have found her tonight," his gaze roved Gwen's face for a moment more, and then respectfully returned to Jack.

"News, Justin?" Jack whispered excitedly, his infectious smile beaming. "A message from God, maybe?"

"You know that I have nothing of your foresight, Jack," Justin shook his head, the humble look on his face seemed to also pour from the rest of his body. "No, something spectacular has happened!" His attention came back to Gwen, who couldn't decide whether or not to be afraid of him. "It seems God himself has sent you a welcome home present, Princess," the name would have been sweet, were it not for the leering look that he couldn't keep from emerging at each glance in her direction. "Come inside, quickly!"

They followed Justin down the familiar alley that he had come from, tucking close to the building, deeper into the shadows. Justin pulled a small chain from under his shirt, finding the key on the end and unlocking the large metal door. The necklace fell back against his chest with a thud, and Gwen found herself staring at it. It seemed that key was suddenly everything to her. It was her past, her future, her only hope of escape… if she wanted to escape. What was she doing here? Justin spun around, his excited face finding Jack and Gwen, and the necklace swung with him. For a moment, Gwen could swear that she wasn't standing there at all. She was in a dark room, lying prone with that key swinging just inches above her.

"The others will be so happy to see you!" Justin whispered as he rushed backwards through the door.

Gwen wasn't sure if he was talking to her or Jack. She supposed they were one unit. They always had been. Everything was suddenly just as it always had been. Was she relieved? Was she frightened? Where was she again?

The heavy door slammed shut, and suddenly Gwen was back again; in that cold, metal hallway. Everything was so dark that she clung tight to Jack and tried to bury herself in his side, but he wouldn't let her. He locked his arm around the front of her shoulders, allowing her very minimal movement. The blackness closed in on her, but for the single candle on the little table at the end of the hall. Gwen's heart raced and her breathing came much harder than any amount of cold warranted.

Justin skipped ahead of them, nodding, "I'll go first!" His excitement suddenly slowed to an odd, reverent calm, as he took small, precise steps down the hall, toward the candle. He whispered as he went, and Gwen suddenly felt the urge to somehow make herself so very small. He reached the end of the hall, and spun around, smiling back at them with all that same enthusiasm.

"Are you ready, Guinevere?" Jack whispered in her ear, forcing a step forward. Gwen shook her head and shrank back, trying to duck out of the arm that held her so firm. But Jack took a strong hold of her with his other hand as well, and pushed her further another step. "Come along, my dear. We'll do it together. Do you remember?" Gwen shook her head again, trying to avert her eyes, but finding only that petrifying darkness to greet her. "Yes you do," he pushed her another step. "Carissimi Dei in caelo…" he prompted.

But Gwen couldn't speak, she could only stare at the beckoning light at the end of the tunnel. That light that she feared and yearned for all at once. Finally she gulped hard, shaking as if her bones would break, and opened her mouth. "Caris… carissimi Dei in caelo, noctis praesidio me a malis."

"Dear God in heaven, protect me from the evils of the night," Jack whispered in her ear.

Gwen's brow furrowed in confusion. Why was he repeating her in English? She tried to push it away; the more she spoke, the closer she got to that distant light. "Libera me de me mala, quae tenebras mundi."

"Deliver me from the darkness that plagues my world," he watched her as they moved a little closer.

"Salvum me fac ex Daemonibus, qui me persequatur," something hollow ached in Gwen's stomach, and she was nearly ill with the sensation.

"Save me from the demons who hunt me," a little closer still.

"Et rejicere illos adiuva me ultra fidem ita ut ambulem in aethra vobiscum," Gwen whispered. She could practically feel the heat from the candle now, but suddenly she was stopped.

Jack planted his feet, holding Gwen still. "Say it again," he whispered in her ear.

Gwen shivered; fear and confusion keeping rational thought far from her reach. She couldn't understand his request, but all she wanted was the candle; so she repeated, "Et rejicere illos adiuva me ultra fidem ita ut ambulem in aethra vobiscum."

Gwen tried to move, but Jack blocked her. "Again!" he suddenly growled, the oozing charm in his voice strangely replaced by a fanatic anger.

Gwen jumped, startled, but she answered again dutifully, louder this time. Perhaps he just didn't hear her. "Et rejicere illos adiuva me ultra fidem ita ut ambulem in aethra vobiscum."

"Again!" Jack's voice echoed in the metal-lined hall.

And suddenly she understood. He wanted her to know, to truly comprehend, she was rejecting everything beyond those walls. She was declaring that anything and anyone beyond that building was evil and she would never again seek it out. She would never run away again. She would never turn from him. He wanted to be sure she knew all of this. He wanted her honest promise. With a shaking breath, and a tight jaw, Gwen opened her mouth and repeated, clear and loud, "Et rejicere illos adiuva me ultra fidem ita ut ambulem in aethra vobiscum."

"And help me to reject those beyond The Faith so that I may walk in the sunlight with you," he whispered softly, and allowed her just one more step closer. "Finish it, Guinevere," he taunted.

"Haec omnia me tibi," she smiled as she finished the prayer, though she wasn't sure why. Some odd security had taken hold of her.

"All of this, and myself, for You," Jack repeated, and released his hold on her. He grinned when she ran to the candle, cupping her palms around it as if she could drink in its light. It was just what he'd hoped she would do. He stepped up close to Justin, his eyes always trained on Gwen. "Open the door," he told the larger man. "She's ready."

Warm, glowing light suddenly spilled into the metal hallway, falling along the candle, working its way across the pillar and finally resting on Gwen's skin. She touched her arm, pure amazement shining through her eyes as they beheld the ivory color of her skin in the new-found light. Jack's arm was suddenly around her shoulders and he was leading her through the threshold. She felt as if she could fly at the sight of those familiar high walls of pure white. The beautiful white light, that even now she couldn't find the source of, bathed the white tiled floor of that huge circular space. Quickly she found each statue and painting that graced the walls and hidden niches and said a fast, silent prayer to each of them. She spotted the little alter at the far end of the room on her right and nearly cried with joy at the sight of it. She was safe. Here, she was protected. The demons couldn't touch her in all of this beautiful light.

"Guinevere!" a young male voice shouted suddenly.

Gwen had backed up against the door she'd come through before she ever tried to find who the voice belonged to. Her stomach plummeted and all wonder was lost from her eyes. But still, she hadn't looked up to see who had called her name.

"Guinevere! You're back! Thank God!" the voice was coming closer. He was running to her. He slid to his knees in front of her, his dark blue jeans coming into view of her downcast gaze. "Guinevere? Princess?" Gwen ventured a glance up and caught sight of a man, early 20-something, with wavy long brown hair beaming at her. "Remember me? Hank Zander? You remember, don'tcha?" Gwen didn't answer, and his hesitant voice spoke softly. "Jack, is there somethin' wrong with her?"

"Nothing wrong, Hank," Jack assured, his arm, still holding her shoulders, squeezed hard. "We must remember what she must have been through for three months. All of the darkness she endured with no one to guide her."

"That's horrible," Hank gasped as if the thought would never have occurred to him. "No worries here, little Princess. You're safe now," he touched her cheek softly.

Gwen stiffened hard at his touch, but Jack squeezed her even harder. She glanced nervously at him, his face harsh and expectant. Slowly, Gwen let her gaze fall on Hank, his simple, happy expression seeming to sink her into the floor. She forced a smile and swallowed. "I remember you, Hank," she whispered nervously.

"'Course ya do!" he pulled her into him, locking her in a fierce embrace. The metal buttons on his shirt made impressions on her torso, and Gwen suddenly remembered the same pattern of cold metal against her bare skin.

Suddenly there was a clatter of footsteps and Hank let her go as multiple voices began calling her name. Tens of familiar faces were suddenly swarming her, all women, falling to their knees to touch and hug and kiss her. Jack tried to move out of the way, but Gwen held tight to his hand, refusing to let go of him, and he relented without much of a fight. The women fawned over her, checking for cuts and bruises, assuring that she wasn't injured, and marveling at how she had survived for so long. Gwen let them fuss over her, but soon another group emerged from the far threshold, made up entirely of men. Only four, but their gazes were aimed at her, and their strides were steady. Gwen backed herself against the door, stiff as the wood itself, and watched them try to break through the sea of women to get to her. All were smiling and calling her name, reaching out to touch her or just to feel some connection to her. Gwen thought she'd go crazy with the noise and people closing in on her when a single voice suddenly broke through all the rest.

"That's enough of that!" the voice shouted, and the world fell silent for her. The mass of people broke apart, creating an aisle directly to Gwen, which a tall, stern woman was suddenly passing through. Her nose was long and pointed, her hair was equally so, with a salt and pepper effect coloring it. Even her steps were sharp as she made her way to the girl and bent over to be eye-level with her. Gwen worked hard to not wrinkle her nose at the smell of tobacco, incense, and something indescribably putrid hanging about her. She made no effort to smile at the girl and Gwen bestowed the same courtesy.

"She looks great, don't she, Laura?" Hank, who still hadn't left Gwen's side, vied for the attention of the woman.

"Well, she doesn't look broken," Laura observed pointedly, and the mass of women around them nodded in agreement. She looked up at Jack suddenly and pinned him with her glare. "She was found?"

"On the steps of a synagogue on the Upper East Side," Jack answered with no intimidation. He sank to a squat beside Gwen, Hank moving out of his way immediately. "But that's not where she's been for three months. That doesn't matter now. How does she seem to you?"

Laura's glare turned and pinned Gwen now. She examined her closely, only a topical search, but soon she took hold of the arm connected to Jack and pulled her away from him. Gwen was shaking head-to-toe, but Laura pretended to take no notice. She ran her hands down both of Gwen's arms, squeezing intermittently as she went. She turned Gwen's head back and forth slowly. She put strong, bony hands around Gwen's ribs and moved with the breath she found. Then lower, Laura's hands landed on Gwen's hips. She squeezed there, then closed her eyes suddenly, as if she could somehow see inside of the girl. Sharp fingers suddenly jabbed and pushed at the soft abdomen between her hip bones. Laura's eyes flew open and she was looking at Jack again. "She's begun!"

"I know," Jack grinned.

It was somewhat reassuring to Gwen that everyone else, not just her, glanced around themselves, trying to assess what that meant. Gwen wished that she were the door at this moment. Never to leave this room, but to be a mere object that no one took any notice of.

"She will need a proper exam," Laura informed, her breath now nearly unbearable in Gwen's face. "We have to be sure that she isn't spoiled."

"She's pure," Jack assured. "But an exam wouldn't hurt. All right, Guinevere?" Gwen was shocked to be spoken to directly. She could only nod at him.

"Jack, before any of that…" Justin motioned him to come close, and Jack moved away, the two men suddenly whispering to each other.

"Sure good to have you home, midget!" Hank was kneeling beside her again, his sweetly affectionate face beaming at her.

Home. Gwen tried not to shake her head. She was home? She was safe, surely… but home? Hank hugged her, laughing with his excitement. The women grouped around her tentatively, petting at her hair. Family? Home?

"Stop that!" Laura insisted, and every hand fell away from the girl. Some small part of Gwen thanked the sharp, old woman for such a favor. "She's not a child anymore. You will all have to learn to not treat her as such."

"Guinevere," a woman who, for some reason, Gwen could put no name to, touched her arm softly, "where is Morgaine?"

Gwen froze, her face going blank. With no other recourse, she could only blurt out the first thing that came to mind. "Dead."

She wasn't sure why she had lied. Wasn't she home? Wasn't she with family? But she couldn't let them think that her sister was alive and possibly still out there to be found. Why? Wasn't she home?

"Brave girl," the woman praised, petting her head. "Sweet Morgaine, gone to God." The women bowed their heads reverently.

"Guinevere," Jack called suddenly, and Gwen was glad for the sudden distraction. "My beautiful Guinevere," he had rushed back and kissed her forehead. "It is no less than a miracle that I have found you today; the same night when God has gifted us with another great opportunity. The gift was sent from Heaven for you, my Princess." He had taken her hand and was pulling her deeper into the circular room, as the rest of the crowd dispersed behind them. They stopped in the center of the room, starring at the altar, about twenty feet away. "Stand strong, and face all that God has offered you."

Jack nodded to Justin, who had gone to stand at the wall against the alter. Justin flipped a light switch and the alter began to move. It spun to reveal a back passage, and finished it's 180 degree turn with a new alter in its place.

Gwen's blood ran cold and she was nearly ill with the sight before her. Vincent was huddled on the floor of the alter, chained to the wall. Crimson blood pooled at the edge of the platform, a half circle formed from the rotation.

"He was found," Jack began proudly, loud enough for everyone to hear, "coming from the basement. He was calling your name, Guinevere." He stepped in front to face her, blocking the terrifying view. "God has sent you a demon, Guinevere. _Your_ demon. It was sent for you on the night you have returned to us, and only you will be gifted with the opportunity to destroy it."

* * *

><p>Father turned and let his eyes linger on the sight before him. Catherine in Vincent's oversized chair, her feet propped on the footstool, cradling Arthur, who had long since fallen asleep, spooned around the extension of her abdomen, his head heavy on her chest, and her fingers combing through his blonde hair. Father couldn't help but smile. But, his daughter-in-law took no notice of him, she only stared off into space, lost in her far away thoughts. Slowly, he approached her.<p>

"Catherine," he whispered so as not to wake Arthur, "why don't you try to get some sleep. You know that you'll be the first to know if either, or both, of them return."

Catherine shook her head, her gaze falling to the little boy asleep on her lap. "I can't sleep. Not while they're out there."

Father sighed, setting a hand on top of hers. "You know better than I do that Vincent is more than capable. He'll find her, dear. They'll be home soon. Please, just try to rest."

Again she shook her head. "I'm not tired," she insisted, her red eyes betraying her.

"Well," Father stepped away and watched Arthur's arms wrap around Catherine's, "why don't we at least put him to bed?" Catherine suddenly looked devastated at the thought. "I know that I would feel more comfortable if he wasn't putting so much weight and stress on you, especially now."

"He's all right, Father," she refused, holding Arthur close. "If he gets heavy, I'll take care of him."

"Please, Catherine," Father truly pleaded, treating her as the worried mother she had become, "at least put him in your bed so that he'll be close by. You could even climb in beside him. Just take his weight off of yourself, please."

Catherine looked down at the little boy, so sweet and calm in her arms. She sighed through her nose and her breath ruffled his hair. She glanced at her bed, her lips pursed, and then back to Father and nodded. Father moved around in front of them to help, taking one of the boy's arms and twisting his body away from Catherine. She lifted the arm that had fallen over her shoulder and brought it around to the front. He half-woke, groggily glancing around himself.

"Is Gwen home?"

"Not yet, munchkin," Catherine soothed. "Come on, we're going to bed." They walked him, on either side, the few steps to the bed, and let him climb in on his own. The little boy was asleep again before Catherine had a chance to tuck the covers around him.

Catherine straightened and then stretched back, her spine snapping once or twice, painful enough that she winced. She rolled her neck, which felt heavier than ever before, and rubbed her eyes.

Father watched her, worried not only as a father, but as a doctor. "Catherine, why don't you try to sleep? You need the rest. I'm not at all comfortable with the stress you're putting on your body."

"Father, I appreciate your concern, I just can't…" her voice trailed off. Her eyes suddenly glazed over as her gaze fixed on some distant point that Father tried, but couldn't, find. She gasped suddenly, her breath stuck in her throat as she let out small squeaks that sounded almost like pain.

Father was beside her in a second, touching her face and grappling for a pulse. "Catherine? Catherine, what's happening? Can you hear me?"

Another catch-breath, Catherine's chest heaved upward, and her whole body began shaking while Father searched her solicitously. Finally, movement. She propelled herself away from him and began running full speed out of the chamber with only the whisper of a name to leave him with. "Vincent!"

* * *

><p>Everything was blurred. The harsh light of the room didn't help. It was all cloudy and… what was the word? Wet. It felt wet. Blood dripped into the corner of his eye and he realized what the wet sensation was. He blinked hard. It helped his vision slightly, so he blinked more fervently.<p>

Things began clearing, and Vincent gained the strength to raise his head. The room was half-full of people, all staring at him. And at the center of the room stood a man, and a young girl. Vincent blinked harder, trying to make out specific details. Again, things cleared slightly, and he found a head of curly hair, and a familiar tunnel nightgown.

"Guinevere…"

* * *

><p>Gwen couldn't move. She couldn't even hear Jack anymore. Her mind was too occupied with the sight of Vincent, chained to the alter, bleeding from his head. She didn't know what to do, what to think. How had he even found her? His mouth moved and Gwen strained to hear him. She wanted to help him… if only she could move her feet.<p>

"Let us all bear witness," Jack preached broadly, "to the great rising; the true triumph of good over evil. Let this be testament, before your very eyes, that the light of God will always win over the darkness of Hell. This creature was found by these good men in the depths of darkness of our very building. And he called to the child," his voice softened. "The one, whom all of us know to be, the purest light that any of us of The Faith have seen. She is our salvation. She is our way. It called _her_ name! Clearly, this is a sign from God. We shall follow by example. Tonight," Jack spun with a flourish in front of Gwen again, and pulled a dagger from a pocket inside his coat, "the child shall become a woman, and lead us into the light of God." The white light flashed off of the dagger, blinding Gwen for a split second.

Suddenly, with no knowledge to her as to how it happened, the knife was in her hand, and Jack was forcing her fingers to close around it. She shook her head even as she looked down and found her grip tight around the hilt. "No…" she whispered, but even if Jack heard her, he ignored her.

"Your time has come, Guinevere, as we all knew it would someday," he grasped her shoulders and tried to find her eyes. "This is your chance. You can rid the world of this demon who haunts our nightmares. It is all that is left for you to do before you deliver the light to us all."

Gwen just kept shaking her head. None of this made sense. What was she doing? Deliver the light? Rid the world of a demon? But, Vincent wasn't… was he?

"Come," Jack swerved to her side, holding her shoulders, and staring at Vincent along with her, "look at it. You couldn't ask for a more appropriate destiny."

"Guinevere," the crumpled mass on the alter called out, loud enough to hear.

Jack smiled broadly, breathing heavily, even more excited. "And so he calls to you." He waited, occasionally glancing at the dagger in her hand, anticipating her move toward the alter. But she didn't move, and his arm tightened around her. "Come now," he cooed at her, "we'll do it together. Together; just as we always are. Just as we'll always be."

But Gwen shook her head even more vehemently now that the sight of Vincent was drawing nearer and becoming even more clear and detailed. She tried to plant her feet and turn away, but he kept her steady. A step, and then another.

"Guinevere," Vincent called quietly.

"No," Gwen suddenly whined. "No, no, please don't make me." She tried to twist away from Jack, but he held her firm. "Please, Jack. Please, I can't!"

"You can!" he assured her. "He is here just for you. You cannot deny that. This is _your_ demon, Guinevere! He is the one who hunts you, who haunts you. It is _him_ lurking in the shadows. He is the one trying to steal you away from the light! Do you want him to live long enough to trap you in his darkness? Do you want him to drag you down to that dark place where only his kind exist? Do you want that?"

Gwen was lost. She was terrified and disoriented. Why was she even here? How did she get here? She searched the floor for an answer, a trap door, anything that could possibly save her. Darkness was frightening, of course it was the last thing she wanted. But… didn't she? Didn't she want Vincent to take her back to where he'd come from? Did she?

"I just… I can't, Jack," she gasped, beginning to cry. "Please don't make me."

"It is not as I command, Guinevere," he reasoned, moving her steadily closer to Vincent. "It is only as God commands. It is a gift. Do not shy away from a gift from God."

"No," she cried. "No, it's not right. Please, Jack. This isn't… I can't do this!"

"You can, and you will!" he insisted, pulling her the extra step so that their feet were now touching the base of the alter, the toes of their shoes dipped in the trench of blood. Jack spun suddenly and began preaching again. "Fear and reluctance are common feelings in the face of evil, but we do not give in. We hold to our faith. We conquer the fear just as dutifully as we conquer the evil before us."

Gwen was shaking, her eyes glued to the pathetic sight of Vincent before her. Jack had turned back to her, and he ran his hand down her arm, gripping her wrist that held the dagger. "Please, Jack," she tried to twist her arm out of his grip.

"It is the beginning, Guinevere," he pulled her downward to kneel in the blood they had just been standing in, jerking her forward every time she pulled back. "It is your new life," he caught her off-guard suddenly and jerked her wrist forward, the blade making contact and tearing at Vincent's exposed, and already bloody, skin. Gwen and Vincent cried out together, but Gwen was quickly pulled close to Jack again. "This is your re-birth. You must first be reborn before you can give birth. You remember! You are our salvation, Guinevere. You and I will give the gift of new life to The Faith, just as God has given you this demon as your final test. Do not shrink from it. Face it with pride. Remember!"

Faster and more clearly than either of them ever expected, Vincent and Gwen understood Jack's words. 'The gift of new life to The Faith'; Jack's plans went much deeper than a fanatic belief in God. He planned for Gwen to literally give birth to a child, his child, as some savior of his religion. Their minds raced with the new knowledge that any observer would be convinced that they were speaking to each other telepathically.

Jack left Gwen slumped at the base of the alter, the dagger still gripped tight in her hand, and sobbing. He stood and addressed his congregation of cowering women, and men eager for the opportunity to kill the creature themselves. "This is Eden! We are your ancestors! Your Adam," he gestured to himself. "Your Eve," he gestured to Gwen. "And that," he pointed despisingly at Vincent, "is the serpent in our beautiful garden!"

Jack continued his sermon, but Vincent blocked him out. Instead, he leaned forward as much as he dared and called to the little girl in front of him. "Guinevere…"

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, with no courage to look at him. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

"Guinevere, you need to listen to me," he whispered so low that she had to strain to hear him over Jack. "Are you listening? Look at me!" She raised her eyes, heavy with tears, to meet his. "I am going to get us out of here, both of us. Do you trust me?" Gwen's eyes drifted away, glancing quickly over her shoulder at Jack, and then down at the dagger in her hand. "Do you trust me, Gwen?"

"Yes," she whispered, keeping her head still so that no one would see that she was talking to him.

"When I say, I want you to run, as fast as you can. Guinevere, look at me! You run as fast as you can. In the basement there is access directly to the tunnels. When I say, you run for it, and whatever you do, don't look back. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she nodded, staring deeply into the calm, comforting resolve of his determined blue eyes. Her shoulder was suddenly ripped back, and Jack's face replaced hers, close to Vincent.

"Do not try to lure her from us, demon!" he spat. "She walks in the light. She will not be called to your darkness!" Jack gripped Gwen's wrist again, pulling her forward, the blade ever-reaching for its victim. "Do it!"

"Jack, please," she tried to twist away. "He's just a man," she silently rejoiced that this made him stop. "He's just a nice man," she sobbed. "Don't do this. He's just a very nice man."

Jack stared at her curiously for a moment, and then set his jaw angrily. "The demon has turn your head. Look into my eyes, Guinevere. I am your protector. It was made to torment you. You can only trust in me." His fingers were around her wrist again, reaching for his objective.

Vincent tried to keep his deep breaths hidden. He tested his muscles and flexed as much as he could without creating any suspicion. The dagger drew closer. He looked up and locked eyes with Gwen, seeing her jaw tighten. Then, he found Jack's cruel gaze and fixed on it. "Run," his deep voice rumbled like a coming storm, and suddenly his whole body strained against the chains, as his chest seemed to erupt into a roar like a volcano.

Jack was frozen in shock just long enough that Gwen could wrench her arm upward, breaking his grip. She struggled to her feet, trying not to watch the transformation that was happening before her eyes. The chains came loose from the wall with a deafening crash that seemed to snap everyone out of their frozen shock. Jack was suddenly grabbing at her nightgown, struggling to get a hold on her arms, his aim always the dagger in her hand. Quickly, she threw the blade away. It slid along the white tile until it hit the opposite wall and fell harmlessly away from the panic.

The whole room erupted in screams and pandemonium. Gwen kicked at Jack to make him release her as he screamed obscenities at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Justin run up to try to subdue Vincent, grappling with chains that merely fell from those great, hulking shoulders. One strong arm swiped at Justin and he sail across the room, hitting the wall and falling to the floor. Jack finally lost his grip on Gwen, and she sprinted away, never looking back, into the mass of followers, who were screaming and praying, running with no direction, searching for an exit frantically.

Gwen had completely lost her bearings, shoving past as many people as she could. A few grabbed her, but she shook away easily. She turned this way and that, breaking through, and then plunging into the terrified mass again, trying to find the exit to the basement. Suddenly, arms closed around her, her body collided with a petite figure, and she fought it for a moment, before a voice found her ear.

"Gwen, go!" Catherine yelled at her, pushing her in a direction. "Run! I'm right behind you!"

They ran at full speed, Catherine keeping a tight hold of the material at the shoulder of Gwen's nightgown. But the crowd suddenly changed direction, as if they suddenly remembered how to get out. They were running for the same exit that Gwen and Catherine were trying to get to, and a few began trying to grab onto the child as well. Catherine tugged Gwen to the side, out of the mob, and they hit the wall, spinning. Catherine caught her bearings faster, and she pulled Gwen away from the wall, pushing her toward an empty niche where a statue had been pushed out in the panic. Catherine's arms wrapped around Gwen's shoulders so that the girl's back was against Catherine's front, the woman's pregnant belly pressed against the girl's back, and the baby kicked at them in protest.

"Don't move," Catherine whispered into her ear. "Try not to breathe loudly. Understand?" Gwen nodded quickly, trying to make her breath come more regularly, reveling in the feeling of those truly safe arms so tight around her.

* * *

><p>Vincent tossed Justin aside, and began advancing on Jack, who tumbled and scrambled backwards to get away. He was yelling something about God and demons, but no one would hear him over Vincent's roars that echoed off of the curved walls. He raised his arm to strike at the easy target, when something sailed through the air and struck him in the ear. Vincent dropped back away, shaking his head to clear the sudden ringing. His keen eyes caught a broken piece of stone or marble lying on the floor near him. In that heartbeat of stillness and waiting, he was suddenly aware of Catherine's presence, but he pushed the thought away.<p>

Four men ran forward and formed a blockade in front of Jack, panting and daring Vincent to come closer. This was apparently what they'd been waiting for the whole time. It was a stand-off. Vincent watched them; every shift of every muscle, he saw, felt, heard. He waited. All he needed was one; one fool-hearty individual to get over-zealous and try to make a move. Jack had climbed to his feet and was now backing away from his saviors with an overly-confident grin to Vincent; the coward.

The advantage came from the young man on the end. Vincent noticed him trying to edge around as if he'd surprise him from behind. He pulled some object from his pocket and rushed his opponent. The object was irrelevant. It was hardly raised before Vincent had taken a hold on his arm, his claws sinking deep into the man's skin, and tossed him into the alter, which broke under the sudden weight.

The second tried to run up on Vincent, but he was also easily disposed. Vincent's claws sank into the abdomen, just beneath the ribs, and he too was tossed carelessly away. The third was rather close behind. This one had the courage to leap onto Vincent's back, a large muscled arm wrapped about his neck, trying to choke him. Vincent swung this way and that, trying to throw him off, but he clung tight. Vincent bent over to try to throw the attacker over his head, but the fourth had obtained a weapon, and instead of it striking its intended victim, the weapon found purchase in the back of the man attached to Vincent's back. The attacker slid easily away from his neck, and the fourth assailant scrambled back, horrified at what he'd done.

"Vincent!"

* * *

><p>There was tense quiet. It wasn't safe yet, both Catherine and Gwen knew that, but they couldn't see what was making everything so suddenly quiet. Catherine couldn't help but wince at the harsh emotions thrumming through that Bond, pounding in her heart, but she held Gwen tight and still in that little niche.<p>

There was movement suddenly, and Vincent roared. Catherine bit her lip, hard. But, just that split-second of distraction was enough that Gwen suddenly slipped through her grip.

"Catherine!" the girl screamed, her arm twisted and contorted while being pulled out of their safe space in the wall. "Don't let go! Don't let go!"

Catherine caught hold of her again, one solid grip on her upper arm, the other around her waist. But, their footing was already off balance, and with one strong pull, they both fell out of the niche. Jack Hoffman, with a triumphant grin, held Gwen's other arm, keeping a good stance in this sudden tug-o-war over the little twelve-year-old.

"Well," he began, his head cocked to the side, "isn't this a familiar little coincidence."

"Let go of her!" Catherine pulled, and Gwen cried, but Jack's hands never slipped.

"It's been you all along, hasn't it, Ms. Chandler?" he sneered at her and stopped pulling. He still held tight to Gwen's arm, but now he actually stepped uncomfortably close to them, and Gwen fell into Catherine's side, tucked close. Jack suddenly sniffed hard, his malicious smile making them shudder. "Yes, I could smell it on you every day in that Godless courtroom, and I can smell it on you now. Earth. Darkness," he glanced over his shoulder at Vincent's savage disposal of the men. "And him. I told you… I know who you are and what you are," he glanced down, dark eyes settling on Catherine's protruding belly. "I know what you plan for my Guinevere. You may have been taken in by the powers of Hell, you may want to carry a demon in your womb, but Guinevere has a place among the light! She will carry _my_ child in her belly, and he will be a child of God!"

"Catherine…"Gwen pleaded, pulling away from Jack as best she could.

"Stay away from her!" Catherine yelled at him, moving her hand from Gwen's waist to try to push Jack's hands off of the girl's arm. "Let go! Let her go!" But, Jack had gained a better grip and footing, and he had suddenly found an advantage, pulling Gwen away from Catherine and closer to him. "Vincent!"

Catherine could see Vincent change direction and focus, apparently abandoning a victim in favor of her. He moved swiftly, his intensions already in his body before he was in close enough proximity to carry them out. Catherine felt it pounding in her veins; 'kill him!'

Gwen looked up quickly, as footsteps came near, and found Justin running forward, the dagger she had thrown against the wall, now in his possession. She screamed as he leapt at Vincent, the dagger raised high over his head. But, Vincent was faster. He spun on his heel, caught Justin with both hands at the base of his neck and twisted with a stomach-turning 'crunch'. The man was dropped in a lifeless mass with no second thoughts, and Vincent spun back to Jack.

Before Jack could see what was happening, Vincent was beside him. One powerful hand locked around his neck, and shoved him away from Gwen. Jack's grip released and he fell, rolling onto his back and hitting his head on the wall behind him. Gwen fell off balance and landed in Catherine's arms, clinging there to her chest, and held so tightly that both thought they may not be able to breathe.

Vincent moved slowly toward Jack, his menace clear, but his body eerily calm. Jack tried to scramble upward, but Vincent was faster again, kneeling beside him and clamping a blood-soaked hand around Jack's neck and pinning him against the wall.

Even there, humiliated and vulnerable on his back, Jack laughed arrogantly. "She called you 'a man'; a 'very nice man'. Where is that man now?"

"He is protecting his family," Vincent growled, loathing spilling from every word. "You will _never_ come near any of them again."

Jack laughed, long and hard until his uncomfortable position made him cough. "Are… are you so sure of that?"

"Yes!"

Catherine grabbed Gwen's head quickly and forced the girl's face into her chest. "Don't look, baby! Don't look!" She buried her own face in the child's hair just as the sounds of breaking bones reached her ears.

When everything went quiet, she ventured a look up, and found Vincent on his feet, moving toward her. She took a few steps, with Gwen still attached, to close the gap. The trio collectively fell to the floor from exhaustion. Vincent and Catherine's heads pressed together, each of their arms gripping the others' shoulder with Gwen cradled between them.

* * *

><p><strong>But Larissa woke up one morning<strong>

**Singing "Hallelujah"**

**Remember me for my passion**

**The paradise that I imagined**

**Hallelujah**

Gwen sat on the bridge over The River of Voices, her legs dangling off, and her arms wrapped around the rope railing. Her forehead rested on the backs of her hands while she watched the vast nothing just past her feet. Words drifted to her from far-away places, and she wanted to pin-point each one, but she found herself not caring enough to try. They were just more voices, just more people, tugging and pulling at her consciousness, vying for her attention.

"Hey," not an echo, a real voice this time, coming from somewhere very close to her.

Gwen didn't even look up to see the face attached to it. She didn't need to. "Go away."

"Mm, see, that's gonna be tough. I promised your parents that I'd talk to you, so..." Lena dropped her legs over the bridge beside Gwen and stared off at the same nothing, "you're kinda stuck with me."

"They're not my parents," Gwen mumbled miserably. "My parents are dead. And, they have their own kid. They don't need me."

"That baby," Lena sighed, "means a lot to all of us. It means everything to them. And yet," she looked at Gwen and smiled, "for some reason, last night they not only risked their lives, but they risked the life of that baby, just to save you. Now, just my opinion, but that takes some awfully special people to care that much about one little girl."

"They're good people," Gwen granted, nodding. "But that doesn't prove that they're my parents."

"Gwen, do you really think so little of them that you assume that would do the same for any other child?" Gwen glanced at Lena briefly, confirming that she believed just that. "Well, let me tell you; were it not you, or Arthur, or Mora, Vincent would still have been part of a search party, but he wouldn't have gone off on his own. He'd have taken somebody with him to that place. And Catherine wouldn't have stayed up all night waiting to hear. She wouldn't have fought with Vincent about being a part of the search party herself. And, no one would have found that kid nearly as quickly as Vincent and Catherine found you last night. They love you! They love Arthur and Mora! You need to start getting used to it. They won't go away anytime soon."

Gwen bit her lips, trying not to be encouraged by her words. "I don't want to talk to you," she mumbled angrily and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

Lena sighed heavily, leaning on the rope, and watching Gwen. She let the silence fall around them. She let it get uncomfortable, and then she asked the one question that she knew would put everything in motion. "How old were you when he first raped you?"

Gwen didn't even hesitate. She jumped to her feet and started out of the cavern. "Leave me alone!"

"I was 10," Lena shouted, stopping Gwen in her tracks. "I was ten-years-old. My step-father used to touch me and make disgusting jokes about me all the time, but… one night, he told my mother that he was going to tuck me into bed. He was drunk, she probably was too, who knows." Gwen began wandering back toward her, but Lena didn't take any notice. She just stared out into the void and continued her story. "My mom was always drunk or high. It was normal for her. I didn't even really notice it until Jeff started raping me. Then, I suddenly realized that she wasn't even paying any attention. She probably didn't really care. Once a week, every week… he was like clockwork. Years it went on. I tried to tell people, but they either didn't believe me, or they asked me why I was still there; as if it was my fault that I was a little girl and not able to take care of myself.

"When I was fourteen, I was lying in bed one night, waiting for Jeff, and I heard these voices outside my door. It was Jeff, and his friend… ya know, I never found out what his name was. Anyways, I could hear them talking about me. Jeff was telling the guy about how pretty and sweet and innocent I was. He said I was just this guy's type. And then he let the guy into my bedroom and he locked us in together.

"The next morning, I got up, I took a shower, and I started packing, slowly at first. I decided, while that stranger was lying on top of me, that if I was going to be forced to sleep with strangers, I was going to get money for it. So, one day, not long after, I left for school, and I never came back. I went straight to the city, lived on the streets for a while, and then I got a pimp. I did really well for myself, if we're going to compare. Years! Years, I did this. And I felt worse and worse the longer it went on. And then, one fateful day in March, I found out that I was pregnant, and I didn't know how, but I knew I had to get out. It took almost nine months, but I did it."

"Did what?" Gwen suddenly begged eagerly, sitting beside Lena on the bridge again.

"I found Catherine. She found me." Lena shook her head and giggled, "I'm not really sure how it happened anymore. But, she saved me too, Gwen. There's a reason why my daughter is named for her."

Gwen sighed and let her eyes drift away. She searched the chasm, and then came back to hazy fog below her. "I was 9. Jack had just married my mom. We had been part of The Faith for a few months already. We were taking lessons. All of that. Well, we heard one of his sermons and that night, I was so scared! I couldn't think of anything except demons and shadows and my room was so dark! So, I ran down to Mom and Jack's room. Mom yelled at me, told me that I was being a baby and not to wake her up for something that stupid again. But Jack… he got up and we sat in the kitchen, and we had milk and Oreos, and he told me that he was always going to protect me, but only if I wanted him to." Gwen shrugged," I couldn't think of any reason that I wouldn't want him to protect me. So, he took me back to my room." Gwen's ashamed little face met Lena's. "I had heard about rape, Lena, but I don't think that Jack ever did it. He told me that he was protecting me from the demons, and that's all I ever wished for. I wanted him to take care of me… by any means necessary.

"My mom didn't notice either. Or, if she did, Jack probably just told her that it was something necessary that he was doing to keep me safe. She listened to whatever he told her. But, then, after a little while, Jack started talking about this whole New Eden thing. It was in all of his sermons suddenly; this idea that The Faith was the beginning of a new people. I never understood it… not until last night. But, that's when it all really started. He would take me to the church and I started being examined by Laura. She was this mean old lady who wasn't really a doctor, but she'd poke me and make me eat these leaves and stuff. And then, Jack and Laura would tell me to get in the closet. I hated the closet, it was dark and so isolated. But they always said that I had to 'practice'. After I'd sat in there alone for a few minutes, crying as hard as I could so that maybe Jack or the demons would pity me, someone would come into the closet with me. That was rape," Gwen nodded, a tear falling. "That's when I knew. But Jack… he still didn't feel like anything more than my protector.

"Then my mom got sick. The doctors never knew what it was, but I started noticing that Jack was having her drink this tea every morning. He said it was going to make her worse before it made her better. But, he promised that she would get better. When mom was sick, I was in the closet more and more often. Then, mom was in the hospital. That last day, the night that mom died, Jack told us to wait in the waiting room. He told us that he was going to send her to God." Gwen's hazel eyes glistened when she looked up at Lena, "I don't ever want to know how he did that.

"We all went home. I put Mora to bed. Arthur cried himself to sleep. I waited… but Jack didn't come to my room. There were so many shadows and so many sounds, I couldn't stand it. So, I got up. Milk and Oreos… that's all I wanted. I looked in on Mora to make sure that she was okay…" Gwen swallowed hard, "and there he was. I'm not sure why I was so surprised. Of all of us, Mora looks the most like our mom. But, I was so angry! And worse, I wasn't angry because Jack was raping my autistic sister. I was angry because he went to her and not me. I was jealous!

"We argued for hours. We woke Arthur up and Jack hit him a few times. Somebody called the cops. I don't know who. Somebody who had finally heard enough of the screaming, and who'd seen enough of the filthy children with no real mother or father caring for them. We were sent to foster care. And that's where we found Catherine." Gwen forced a smile at Lena, "Or Catherine found us. Whatever."

Lena gave the girl a half-smile and looked away. "So," she found Gwen's eyes again, "when you went to Cullen the night before, you were really looking for Jack."

Gwen's mouth gaped open and she backed away from Lena. "I didn't… I…" she could only shake her head and gape.

"It's all right, Gwen. I talked to Cullen. I know nothing happened, except that you scared the hell out of him."

"I can't believe you're even speaking to me," Gwen pulled her knees up and tried to bury her face in them.

"Gwen, this is not something that you can control right now. We all know that. Something in you just clicked the other night, and all you knew was that you needed comfort. You needed a safe place."

"Don't pretend like you understand. No one understands this! No one understands why a 12-year-old tries sleep with a… a… however old he is!" she gave up the struggle and tucked back into herself again. "Don't be nice to me, Lena. I did something unforgivable."

Lena released a sudden, quick laugh, her head falling back, watching the jagged pattern of the ceiling. "And yet," she whispered in wonder, "she forgave me."

"What?" Gwen mumbled, her curiosity winning out over her embarrassment.

Lena smiled softly at her. "Vincent and Catherine have never told you what happened when I was first brought down here, did they?" She didn't wait for Gwen, she already knew. "No, of course they wouldn't. To them, it's all in the past. But, to me… I'm reminded of what I did every time I see them together. I remember every time they smile at each other… and he touches her belly," she voice drifted whimsically. Gwen was watching her in utter confusion and she smiled at the child. "Did you really think you were the first person, even down here, to try to steal someone else's boyfriend, and feel horrible about it?"

Gwen glanced around herself, very nervous, and not believing her own deduction. "You… tried to steal Vincent?"

"I was very lost," she answered quickly. "I needed someone strong, and sure. Just like you did. And, he was kind and sweet, and he was there by my side when Cat was born, and more than anything, I wanted to know that I wasn't alone for once in my life. He fit the bill quite nicely." Lena smiled, looking away and blushing. "I probably scared him that night, as much as you scared Cullen." She looked up at Gwen, her expression sober and sympathetic. "I know how it feels, Gwen. I've lived with the incessant, lingering guilt for two years now. Eventually, that hole in your heart, and in your stomach, won't hurt as much every time you see him, or me. It took a long time for me to not feel as if I had ruined something between Vincent and Catherine. But, it's over now, and because of it, I can have this conversation with you, and I can understand."

Gwen shook her head, not sure if she wanted to accept such a clear and logical story. "It feels like… something dark. Something evil that's always going to be inside me. But… that's just Jack, isn't it? In my head, telling me that some demon has taken control of me. Why won't he stop talking, Lena?"

"Because he was the demon, honey," Lena pet her head. "You need help, and we are going to find it for you." Lena slid close and hugged the girl to her side. "Your parents love you. They want to help you. You have a family now; a very real and large one. Believe me, I know, they're not always that easy to accept. But they're here, and they care."

Gwen let her body sag against Lena's, crying suddenly for no reason that she could identify. But, she was happy, that she knew. And she was safe.


	3. Part 3

Three Months Later

**But Larissa woke up one morning**

**Singing "Hallelujah"**

**Remember me for my passion**

**The paradise that I imagined**

**Hallelujah**

"You're absolutely certain about this?"

"Yes," Catherine laughed, "for the millionth time!" Her belly, now totally overgrown, well beyond any capacity for anything she did to not look odd and comical, shook as she giggled at her husband. "This baby has four whole weeks to go. You may as well take the opportunity for a couple of days on your own. Besides," she gestured to herself, propped in the center of the bed, "someone around here may as well have fun. I'm apparently bed-ridden for a while."

"Well, that's my point," Vincent argued quietly. "I hate the idea of you sitting here all alone while I'm gone."

"Trust me, dearest, I will not be alone. I have plenty of people clamoring for my attention right now." She grinned at him, "I never knew just how much pregnancy made you popular."

"Mm," he leaned in and kissed her quickly, "maybe you're right. We should do this more often."

She giggled, pushing him away from her. "Go on! Get out of here! If I need you, you'll know."

"Afternoon, everybody," Gwen sang as she entered the chamber and skipped through the entrance, an apple occupying her hands.

"Ah! See? Ask, and an example of my popularity waltz' right through the door," Catherine teased while Vincent rolled his eyes at them.

"Oh m'God, Catherine," Gwen adopted a 'Valley Girl' accent and dropped onto the bed beside her. "Everybody just, like, loves you! And, like, totally wants to be your friend! You're, like, so popular! I'm just, like, so jealous!"

"All right," Vincent called an end to the joke from over his shoulder. Just the sound of that ridiculous speech gave him the worst headache.

The two giggled at him for a moment, and then Catherine took Gwen's hand, adoration shining in her eyes. "Hi, sweetheart! How did therapy go today?"

"Boring," Gwen rolled her eyes and looked away, noncommittally. "What are you guys doing?"

"Well, Vincent is _packing_!" she called over to him and he waved her away as he gathered a few more items. "And I am less-than-stimulating my mind with my brand new deck of cards," she showed Gwen the back with a sarcastic smile.

"What are you playing?" Gwen examined the deck and then handed it back to Catherine.

"Mostly Solitaire," she shrugged. "Do you want to play?"

"I…" Gwen glanced around herself nervously, "I don't know how."

"You don't know how?" Vincent looked up, suddenly joining the conversation. "You mean, you don't know any card games?"

Gwen shook her head, horribly self-conscious now. But Catherine touched her arm quickly and began pulling the deck from the box. "Well, you are in luck, because I am bored out of my mind, and everyone should know how to play Go Fish!"

"What?" Gwen laughed at the ludicrous name.

"Go Fish!" Catherine nodded, shuffling and beginning to deal as she explained. "Okay, now, we start with seven cards each, and then we spread out the rest of the deck between us."

Vincent was suddenly there, leaning over Catherine's shoulder, his eyes sparkling mischievously at Gwen. "Watch out for her, Guinevere. She's notorious down here for her poker face."

"Go away, you," Catherine bat at him playfully with her hand of cards. "Go pack something or… something!" Vincent retreated back to his pack, hearing Gwen's incessant giggling all the way. "Now," Catherine attempted to keep her student focused, "you want to match up the like numbers that might be in your hand; any numbers or letters that match."

Gwen was burying her head in her hand, pretending to be studying the cards, but actually attempting to stop laughing, when Samantha suddenly slid into the chamber, her face red and her brown hair wind-blown.

"Catherine!" she panted. "These came for you. Someone brought it down from your apartment." Samantha handed Catherine a stack of envelopes that the woman took and began sifting through quickly. "Hi Vincent!" the girl beamed and waived, which was returned and then spun back to the woman she came for. "Is the baby kicking today?" Samantha bounced on her toes.

"A little," Catherine smiled and took the girl's hand, pressing it near the top of the swell of her belly. They waited a moment before the belly rippled and Samantha jumped.

"That is so cool," she shook her head in total wonder. But this girl was never focused on one thing too long, and she quickly turned to Gwen. "Hey, Gwen, a bunch of us are going out to the Chamber of the Winds later on after dinner. Do you want to come with us?"

Gwen gaped a moment at the girl, her gaze shifting to Catherine a few times, but she was only given an encouraging smile from the one who she hoped would be her savior. "I dunno," she shrugged. "Maybe."

"Okay, well, I'll find you at dinner and ask then. Okay?" Samantha, her bright smile beaming, waited for Gwen's uncertain nod and then gave a confident nod of her own. "Okay, I'll see you at dinner. Bye," she waived.

"Goodbye, Samantha," Vincent and Catherine called after her, going back to their own projects once she'd gone.

"Vincent," Catherine suddenly giggled, holding up an envelope from the pile. The handwriting was rough and scribbled, and Catherine simply brought it back to read-aloud instead of making him struggle. "'To : Chandler, The Parasite, and The One Who Has No Name'. It's from Joe," she laughed.

"Creative," Vincent granted, grinning, nodding, and closing up his pack. "What is it?"

"Aw," Catherine fawned once the envelope was opened, "it's a gift card to a baby furniture store in Midtown. I love this store," she cooed as she flipped the card over to read the amount.

"That…" Vincent searched for the words that wouldn't sound unkind, "that was very… thoughtful."

"He doesn't know that we have a full set," Catherine shook her head at him. "It's sweet!"

"It is sweet," he agreed, kissing her head. "Gwen, would you put his name in the book for 'thank you' cards?" The girl nodded and popped over to the writing desk quickly.

"Are you off?" Catherine smiled up at him.

"I am," Vincent set his forehead against hers. "Don't shut me out. If you should need me, let me know. I'll be here before you know it."

"I will," she kissed him, capturing him in that awkward, bent position.

The kiss broke, but he kissed her quickly a few more times before straightening, and placing a gentle hand on Gwen's head. "I'll see you soon, Guinevere."

"I'll take good care of her," the girl smiled up at him.

They watched him leave, some hint of sadness in both of them. Gwen was somehow excited to be a part of that bit of separation anxiety that Vincent and Catherine shared; as if she were a part of them also.

"So," Catherine quickly distracted both of them, "tell me about therapy. Are you learning things?"

"Oh yeah," Gwen threw her head back over the chair, "I found out that I have depressive tendencies, paternal issues, chronic paranoia, and a boarder-line personality disorder. Who knew!" she threw her hands in the air sarcastically.

Catherine couldn't help but smile. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. But, you know that it really is helping you, don't you? There has been such a wonderful change in you. You're so much happier. Or at least, you seem to be."

"No, I know," Gwen grinned. "I am kind of feeling better. I don't dream as much anymore."

"That's great!" Catherine reached for her, and Gwen jumped back to her spot on the bed, taking her hand. "Now, do you want to tell me why you don't want to go with Samantha and the others tonight?"

Gwen shrugged, looking away. "I dunno. I just… I feel strange being around them."

"The other children?" Catherine guessed.

"I always feel like they're staring at me. I just… I don't like being around them. I'd rather be here with you tonight."

"Well," Catherine dropped into the 'Valley Girl' voice, "as happy as I am to be, like, so popular…"she dropped the voice when Gwen giggled, "I'd really like to see you go and play with friends your own age. I think it will be good for you."

"Catherine…" Gwen shook her head, looking away.

"Gwen," she caught the girl's eyes, "they're not all staring at you. And if they are, I have no doubt that it is only because they want you to be a part of their group. They want you to contribute. There's no conspiracy here. This is where you're safe."

Gwen swallowed, and then nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

"Thank you," she grinned at the girl. "Now… back to the game. So, you have your cards, and you've separated out the ones that match. You set those right in front of yourself…"

* * *

><p>"Special delivery!" Lena sang; making her way into Catherine and Vincent's chamber, a wooden try burdening her hands, and a toddler clinging to her skirt.<p>

"Oh! My savior!" Catherine exclaimed. She closed up her book and set it aside, throwing off the covers and edging her way off of the bed.

"Hey!" Lena held a finger out to stop her. "Get your pregnant behind back into that bed. I will bring this to you," she assured. Lena began re-arranging the dishes on the tray, choosing a teacup and saucer, and bending to her daughter's level. "Take this to Aunt Cathy, _slowly_," she stressed and set the cup in the child's hands

Grumbling and groaning, Catherine climbed back deeper into the bed. "I am going to start throwing tantrums if I don't get out of this bed soon! Do you know how long I've been here, Lena? 12 hours! 12 solid hours sitting here with cards, and books, and silence. I'm going to go crazy! I've been going to the bathroom every hour just for the excuse to stand up!" Large, innocent blue eyes caught her attention suddenly and she found Cat timidly handing her the tea. "Thank you, sweetheart," she took the cup. "Why don't you come up and sit next to me?" Catherine pat the bed beside her and Cat happily clamored up, snuggling into her side.

"I thought she'd temper you," Lena smiled, choosing her tea and settling into the chair beside the bed.

"Sabotage!" Catherine proclaimed, hugging Cat closer.

"Where are the kids?"

"Mora's with Father," Catherine sipped at her tea. "They're having a class and he'll bring her to dinner, he said. And I made Gwen and Arthur go with the other children to the Chamber of the Winds. Well," Catherine rolled her eyes, resting the cup and saucer on her extended abdomen, "I didn't have to make _Arthur_ do anything."

"Gwen didn't want to go with the others?" Lena guessed and Catherine nodded, her eyes downcast. "She will. Don't worry. It'll just take a bit of time. She _has_ been getting much better, Catherine."

"I know," Catherine acknowledged, sipping at her tea lightly. "I can see it every day." Another sip at the little cup and she made a disgusted face, setting it and the saucer on her end table. "Ugh!" she burst. "What I would give for a cup of coffee!"

"I'll bet I can guess," Lena smirked. "How have you been feeling lately?"

"Jumpy nerves," Catherine shrugged. "I'm convinced it's from sitting so much, though. I've never sat still so long! Odd things are nagging at me, but I think I'm just restless. Odd feelings all over my body," she waved her hand casually. She suddenly inhaled lightly, and Cat sat straight up away from her. Catherine rubbed her belly, smirking sarcastically. "And good evening to you too," she spoke to the child inside.

"Mama!" Cat cried with wild, surprised eyes. "Mama, hit me!"

"What happened, Cat?" Lena feigned surprise, giggling. "Did the baby kick you?"

"Yeah," Cat rubbed her cheek bitterly.

"Oh," Catherine smiled, "it's all right. He was just saying hello. He didn't mean to hurt you."

"He?" Lena asked, eyebrows raised.

"Just a guess," Catherine shook her head. "I'm getting tired of saying 'it' all the time and Vincent refuses to tell me."

"It's weird how he always knows," Lena shuddered, but smiling.

"It seems a bit voyeuristic, I know," Catherine tilted her head, touching the top of her swell. "I honestly do prefer knowing what's happening with my own body before he does," she confessed.

"Hi!" Cat began screaming and waving at Catherine's belly, having decided that this was a wonderful form of communication. "Hi! Hi baby!" she looked up at Catherine, her brow furrowed. "Say hi back?"

"I don't know. Let's see," she took Cat's wrist and placed her open palm at a spot on her belly. After a moment, she moved it higher and waited.

Suddenly, Cat yanked her hand away, giggling uncontrollably, tucking her arm protectively into her chest. "Hi back!" she squealed. "Mama, said hi back! Hi baby!"

Catherine looked up, laughing along, unable to stop herself. "Would you like to feel?" she reached out to Lena.

"Are you kidding?" Lean beamed. "I thought you'd never ask!" she took Catherine's hand, climbing out of the chair and sliding onto her knees in front of her.

Guiding both Lena and Cat, Catherine set their hands on top, but off to the left. But, she quickly moved them lower, then suddenly higher. "Wait," she whispered, holding their wrists still. "No… closer," she quickly pulled their hands almost to her ribs and both Cat and Lena let out little exclamations and giggles. Cat pulled her hand away, but Lena remained, following what she could of the tremors.

"That's a bit of a weird place to be," Lena commented as her other hand got involved and she found a head and an arm.

"She gets into the oddest positions," Catherine laughed. "I told Vincent, one night, that she would be an athlete like him. And he said, 'the child will be an athlete like _you_, Catherine'," she imitated the raspy, dark voice of her husband.

Lena burst out laughing, her hands falling away from Catherine's belly and clamping over her mouth instead. "I'm sorry," she managed through her hysteria, "But, that is almost disgustingly cute!"

"I know," Catherine chuckled, shaking her head. " I love it when he says adorable things like that."

Lena's giggles went quiet, but her smile remained while she let her eyes linger on Catherine for a moment longer than necessary. "You're really beautiful, Cathy," she nodded earnestly.

Catherine gave her a nervous smile and glanced around herself, evading Lena's gaze, so intently locked on her.

"I mean…" she collected her thoughts, "you've always been very pretty, but right now, at this exact moment… you are really just… beautiful!" she shrugged. "I just… I thought you needed to know that."

Catherine took a moment, working to process such a heartfelt compliment. She had been told she was beautiful many times, by many, many people, but never had the statement been so precise and genuine. It had never meant so much to her. She couldn't stop the grin creeping across her face. Right now; her hair a bit fly-away, no make-up, in a muslin nightgown, eight months pregnant, talking about Vincent, and sitting on the bed she shared with her husband; she was truly beautiful. It was the first time someone other than Vincent had said it, and she actually believed them. Lena was on her feet before Catherine gathered enough rational thought to whisper, "Thank you."

Lena only smiled at her, and then reached for the small child to her left. "Okay, let's go, kiddo," she swung Cat onto her hip. "Let's get some food in you. Cathy, I left your dinner on the tray."

"I'm not really hungry," Catherine wrinkled her nose, her voice still oddly quiet. "I haven't done anything today to warrant it."

"I think carrying around a baby all day gives anyone the right to a meal," Lena informed, almost sharply, and Catherine was suddenly reminded of the stringy-haired prostitute; pregnant, starving, and begging for help. "Besides," Lena smirked at her, "I'd take the excuse to get out of that bed if I were you." The women smile at each other for a moment before Lena moved swiftly out of the chamber, instructing Cat to wave goodbye.

Catherine waved back, smiling involuntarily at the little cherub until she disappeared behind the stone wall. Her gaze fell slowly to the swell of her belly, and she ran her fingertips lightly over the area she had last felt her child. Something indistinguishable pressed back against her and she chuckled softly. She quickly sent her happiness, contentment, and love to Vincent. She hoped that he had felt the moment Lena had complimented her. It hadn't been just for her; and even for their years together, it was still necessary to remind him just how beautiful they truly were.

Catherine glanced over at the tray on the sideboard. She pushed herself to the edge of the bed, craning her neck to see the creamy soup and the side dishes surrounding it. She smirked; Vincent would never have to worry about her starving during any of his journeys. Still, she wrinkled her nose at the, otherwise intoxicating, aroma wafting toward her. Catherine's stomach turned, and she breathed heavily for a moment, suppressing the sickness that threatened to creep its way up. She shook her head, angry and determined. For eight months she had managed to stave off any illness, which was much more than she could say about her other two pregnancies, and she wasn't about to give in now.

The wave of nausea passed, and Catherine climbed to her feet. Just to be safe, she decided to make her way to the washroom. She would take the glass of water on the try with her, though. Just in case. But, at her first step away from the bed, a sharp pain seemed to rip through her abdomen to the middle of her hips.

Catherine was frozen, clutching at herself, breathing through the pain automatically. Yet, for all of her practice, she couldn't suppress the little squeak of pain that burst from her. And just like the sickness, the pain passed quickly, leaving Catherine breathing deeply and shaking slightly. She stroked the side of her swell as she shifted her weight, trying to rid her body of the uncomfortable residue she was left with.

"What was that, huh?" she asked the tiny life inside her. "Do you know?" She felt the baby shift and curl slightly. "I know," she cooed, "that was kind of scary. Maybe your father knows what it was all about," she smirked, sarcastically. "Hey," she wrapped her arms protectively around that precious growth, "mommy has a great idea; let's have a bath, hm? And just to make it even more fun, let's not do any of that again, okay?" There was no response, the babe was perfectly still. "Okay. Here we go, now," Catherine took a few tentative steps, and finally let her body relax and took normal strides through her chamber. She stopped before she left, letting her gaze linger on the pipes in the corner. She weighed the idea of alerting someone, but almost immediately abandoned it. No reason to get over-excited over nothing. A bath would quiet her nerves and maybe even put the baby to sleep.

* * *

><p>Gwen was almost skipping ahead of Arthur, her ridiculous smile plastered on her face, and her curly hair flying in her face every time she turned to be sure he was behind her. "We have to be quiet in the chamber in case Catherine's sleeping, okay?"<p>

"Look who's talking," Arthur argued in a much less excited voice. "You're the one who's practically screaming. And I'm not even the one staying. I just want my tools and then I'm sleeping in my own bed."

"Aww," she mocked, "do you sleep with those wrenches? Besides, I feel weird with Catherine being all alone. I just don't like it."

The siblings rounded the corner, following the little side path. Gwen skipped backwards occasionally while they argued good-naturedly.

"I wish Vincent had taken us with him," Arthur followed his sister with a bit of melancholy. "_I_ want to see the Crystal Cavern," he whined.

"Of course you couldn't go," Gwen's eyes narrowed. "It wasn't like he just felt like a walk. It's a special trip for the baby. Like, his rite of passage as a father. It's like he's proving his worth to raise his baby by going there."

Arthur slowed his pace and he looked as if his whole face had imploded from the nose, inward. "Geez, what is up with you? He's making a mobile, not meeting with God. Chill out."

Gwen rolled her eyes at him, following the candlelight into the chamber. She spared a second to reel back and press her finger against her lips to silence her brother, who had made no noise but for the scuffling of his feet. Their footsteps slowed and they began to tip-toe to the edge of the threshold.

"Hey, you two," Catherine called. She was sitting on the edge of her bed in her nightgown. Her soaked hair fell heavily down her arms, the ends of the strands brushing the top of her belly. She was holding herself from underneath her growth, looking a bit pale as she bit her bottom lip nervously.

"Hey, Catherine!" Gwen's eyes lit up immediately and she skipped into the chamber. "Oh my gosh, we had so much fun!" she gushed. "We took our dinner down to the Chamber of the Winds and we were climbing the stairs; well, I was, not Arthur. And guess what! Guess what!"

Quickly, Catherine grasped Gwen's hand, gently, but firmly, and took a deep inhale through her nose. "That sounds like a lot of fun, sweetheart and I'm very excited to hear about it, but I need you to help me first." The children were silent and wide-eyed, and Catherine regretted needing them at this moment. "I'm… I'm not sure that I can get up right now. Arthur, honey, I need you to run, quick as you can now, and get Father for me, okay?"

"A…are you okay, Catherine?" the little boy gaped at her, his weight beginning to shift.

"Just run and tell Father that I need him, okay, munchkin?" she tried to smile, anything to keep any of them from panicking.

Arthur took a couple of tentative steps back, and then spun and raced back the way he had come. Gwen, however, had been unable to take her eyes off of Catherine. Slowly, she sank into the chair at the desk, watching the woman breathe deeply through her nose. "Are you… what… what happened?" Gwen stammered.

"I'm," Catherine let out a quiet grunt, "I'm not entirely sure. It started about an hour ago. I thought a bath would help," she grimaced at the tween. "No such luck."

"I'm sorry," Gwen suddenly began to fight back sobs. "I shouldn't have gone with Samantha and the others. I should have stayed with you!"

"Don't be silly," Catherine reached out and took Gwen's hand. "You couldn't have prevented whatever this is. And besides, I was the one who told you to go. And I'm glad that you obviously had fun."

Gwen nodded quietly as her hand was suddenly being squeezed with seemingly impossible strength. Catherine was releasing cries of pain, her eyes closed tight, and clutching her stomach. "Ohhh," Gwen knelt in front of her surrogate mother, panicking now, "what do I do? I don't know what to do! What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," Catherine grunted. Another outcry of pain and her grip on Gwen's hand relaxed. "Nothing, sweetheart," Catherine breathed. "At this point, there's nothing either of us can do, but let it run its course," she informed, an immense, unmistakable sadness lacing her words.

"What about… should I… should someone go find Vincent?" Gwen groped to be of use.

Catherine shook her head. "He's on his way. It'll just take him a while. He…" she swallowed and rubbed her belly, "he just may not make it in time."

Gwen sat quiet a moment, her mouth slightly open, processing Catherine's words. "Is it… are you…" she took a breath and collected herself. "Isn't it too early? The baby's not supposed to come for another month, right? Does… does that mean-?"

"Gwen," Catherine planted a hand on the girl's shoulder as another wave of pain hit her, "you're not helping. Talk to me about anything else. Okay?"

"L-like what?" Gwen glanced nervously around herself.

"Oh, I don't know," she unsuccessfully tried not to grumble. "Tell me about The Chamber of the Winds."

"But… but you must have been there a million times before," Gwen had begun to cry, despite her best efforts.

"It doesn't matter. Tell me what _you_ did there," Catherine rushed through her request before biting back a cry, squeaking in her throat instead. Gwen watched her, choking on tears, and grasping for something intelligent to say. Catherine swallowed hard and found the child's hazel eyes. "You were climbing the stairs," she prompted.

Gwen nodded quickly before finding her voice. "We… we climbed up really high," she swallowed her tears. "So high that Arthur and the others looked like bugs, and…" she stopped, nervously watching another wave of pain hit Catherine. The woman nodded as she gasped through the pain and waved her hand at the girl to tell her to keep talking. "And so," Gwen sobbed quietly, "Samantha, and Lizzy, and Beth, and I laid on our stomachs, on the stairs, and sang songs as loud as we could." Catherine was hanging her head, breathing hard, looking as if she may be sick. Tentatively, Gwen leaned toward her, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. "C-Catherine? I'm-I'm scared."

Slowly, Catherine raised her eyes to meet the girl's and took her hand again. "Me too, baby," she nodded honestly, her gaze falling away sadly as Gwen slid in alongside her, setting her head on Catherine's knee.

* * *

><p>Father entered the chamber to the sounds of Catherine working desperately not to scream and the sight of Gwen gripping her hand, biting her lips and trying not to look absolutely petrified.<p>

"All right, Guinevere," he called, his voice deep and authoritative, "step away a bit, dear."

Gwen looked up and nearly laughed with relief at the sight of him. Quickly, she shifted away, but Catherine wouldn't release her hand.

Father set his bag beside Catherine, immediately placing his palm against the woman's forehead. "Arthur," he spoke calmly, his eyes never leaving Catherine, "if you would run and get Mary for me, that would be a great help. Thank you," Arthur had already taken off running by the time the mumbled gratitude had escaped Father. "Catherine," he addressed the woman before him, dipping his head to try and find her gaze, "dearest, I need you to talk to me." His voice was soft and compassionate, fully aware of where her mind had most likely wandered to at this moment.

Catherine swallowed hard and shook her head, looking like a heavy swinging pendulum. "Just," her voice was low and labored, "just started a little more than an hour ago. It's like… like before," she shuddered and unsuccessfully attempted to suppress a sob.

"Okay," Father nodded quietly, sliding a comforting hand over her hair. "Guinevere, if you would do me the favor of going and finding Lena or Olivia, whomever you meet first. The two of you, go to the laundry and bring as many clean towels as you can carry. Understand?"

Gwen nodded quickly and made to stand, but Catherine still held tight to her hand. She pulled slightly, but the grip did not release. Quickly, she shot a panicked glance at Father.

"Catherine," that calm, paternal voice murmured in her ear. "Guinevere has to leave. She needs to help me." Desperate green eyes found their way to Father's watery blue gaze, her shallow breaths coming more and more rapidly. "Let the child go, dear," he instructed quietly.

Gwen felt Catherine's grip begin to relax and fought the urge to yank her hand away. As soon as her hand slid away easily, Gwen was off like a shot, skipping through the threshold and out into the tunnels.

"Cathy," Father pulled the chair from the desk over in front of his daughter-in-law, "are you listening to me?" She nodded. "I need you to stay calm and not jump to any conclusions," he had begun feeling her belly, pressing in places that made her wince. "You are late enough in your third trimester that the baby should not have any developmental problems." Bitter green eyes snaked their way up to him. "Catherine, this pregnancy has gone beautifully," he pulled his stethoscope up into his ears, "there is no reason that any of us have seen that it should have issues." Father placed the instrument to her belly. "Perhaps a bit premature, but there is a very good probability that we can pull everyone through, healthy and happy." He searched for the heartbeat, lower and lower. "Understand?" he glanced up at her. "Can I see a bit of optimism?" She swallowed and pulled one corner of her mouth upward. "Good," he smiled at her as the stethoscope lingered at the very base of the swell, "because this baby is coming, and fast."

Catherine sighed, massaged her forehead with her fingertips and then ran her hand over her face, letting her palm rest over her mouth. She let her gaze roam upward to meet him. He was trying so very hard to look hopeful for her; such a dear man. Her heart ached for her own father in that moment; his deep voice and that ridiculous clown nose. Father said something about finding a bit of comfort while she could and she nodded, pushing herself back into the softness of the bed. The doctor in Father took over as soon as she was laying back, her body no longer folded and protected. He pressed and rocked the sides and base of her belly. Catherine closed her eyes and searched, slowing her heartbeat, quieting her nerves somewhat, and following her rushing blood to the life it had been supporting for so long. She almost gasped when an image came to her, or was that Father's pressure again? No matter. She could see her child, as clear as if she had crawled into her own skin and journeyed to her womb.

Perfect. So perfect that she questioned the image's validity. So small and so helpless as the walls of her body literally closed in on it. The poor babe wasn't ready yet, and her damned body was so eager to be rid of it. All rationale left her and she wanted nothing more than to hold the precious life and fight off that cruel body who insisted it's expulsion. For a moment, just for a moment, she was certain she was doing just that.

"Catherine?" someone cooed at her, petting her hair away from her face. "Catherine, dear, did you fell asleep?"

Catherine blinked her heavy eyes, finding Mary close, her kind face smiling and her frail hand caressing. "I…" she struggled to find her voice, "I must have dozed off," she mumbled apologetically.

"Oh, don't be sorry. _I'm_ sorry that I had to wake you. It's not many who can boast they had a nap as far into labor as you are," Mary's attention never left Catherine; the young mother was her world in that moment. It was the best comfort Mary could give her.

"But…" Catherine glanced around at her unchanged chamber, she couldn't have been asleep more than a few minutes, "I've only been in labor an hour and a half, at most."

"Well," Mary shook her head, her happy face seemingly immovable, "you are moving right along, my dear one."

Another quick look around her chamber, Father was lighting extra lamps in the corner. "Vincent?" she pleaded of Mary.

"No word yet," she spoke sympathetically, but her smile seemed tattooed on. "Can you tell where he is?"

Catherine let her eyes drift away as her concentration deepened. She found Vincent in that deep place in her heart, and it began to pound in rhythm with his. Adrenaline pumped his blood, faster, harder. An all-consuming urgency clouded his mind. 'I'm coming, Catherine!' he cried out when he knew she was there. She tried to look deeper, tried to see where he was, but as soon as she gathered something of a fuzzy vision, a sharp ache tore through her body and she cried out with it.

"Okay. Okay," Mary soothed through Catherine's unrestrained screaming, taking hold of her hand so that she would have something to bear down on, and combing her thin fingers through the heavy length of hair. "Father," she called over her shoulder when Catherine had quieted to a whimper, "what do you have?"

"Five," he glanced at the clock as he set an extra lamp beside the bed.

"Five?" Catherine whined. "Five minutes?"

"We told you," Father grinned. "You're moving fast. We have a baby coming," he winked at her as he turned away.

"What?" Catherine shook her head, rejecting Father's giddiness. "That's too fast. It's happening too fast."

"Maybe a bit faster than normal," Mary granted, dropping any pretense, keeping her face calm and pleasant, but no longer forcing a smile. "But, you have to remember, Catherine, your body has already done this. Prematurely, yes, but it knows what to do and it's normal for the process to go faster than expected."

"It's too early," she insisted, a faint spell of nausea passing through her. "Mary, it's not time. And Vincent…"

"Sweetheart," Mary rubbed the back of the ivory hand she held, "this baby is not going to wait until you feel ready. It's coming now."

"It seems that he is on no one's agenda but his own," Father was at the head of her bed, gazing down at her sweetly. "I'd say he'll be just as opportunistic and headstrong as his parents." He bent and placed a kiss on her forehead. "So, I wish you the greatest of luck convincing him that this isn't happening right now."

Catherine couldn't help but smile at the thought. Still, she had the overwhelming urge to find a way to cross her legs so that the child couldn't escape; another laughable image. Other ridiculous ideas crossed her mind, unable to be stopped or filtered. If only she were a marsupial; the baby could stay safe, tucked inside her until it was strong and grown. Perhaps, if she hung upside down by her feet, gravity would take over and the babe would simply slide comfortably back into her womb. Perhaps if she wore very tight pants everything would be pushed upward.

She wanted so badly to laugh at the idea, but another contraction took hold and the smile was squashed by her grit teeth. Mary was coaching her to breathe, while Father's smile fell away as he glanced at the clock and commented on how fast it had come on.

"We're here! We're here!" Lena ran through the entrance, her arms leaden with at least ten towels and a clean sheet. "How is she doing?" Lena deposited her armload at the end of the bed as Catherine let out a small cry through her breathing.

Mary quietly told Lena of Catherine's contractions and dilation as she pet her charge's head. Father, however, found himself preoccupied with the sight of Gwen, frozen at the entrance, her wide eyes fixed on Catherine, and shuddering with each of the woman's outbursts.

"Guinevere," he called softly and she jumped, "you can leave the towels on the table by my instruments." He nodded to the sideboard where he had laid everything out.

Gwen moved slowly, her eyes never leaving Catherine, even when she set the white linen on the sideboard. Father moved close to her, but she took no notice. Catherine was whimpering now, and she'd begun to sweat. Gwen shivered.

"You don't have to stay," Father whispered to her, trying to avoid startling her, unsuccessfully. The girl's terrified face found his calm and clear expression. "She is in more than capable hands. You can go if you want."

"Is the baby going to live?" Gwen bit her lip nervously.

Father sighed quietly, but answered with all the optimism in him. "We are going to try very hard," he ran a hand over her curls and tried to smile. Her gaze started to drift back to Catherine, and Father immediately set a hand on her shoulder. "Go on, dear. Put your brother and sister to bed. If you could keep an eye on the children for us, that would be a great help. We'll let you know as soon as we can. All right?"

"Okay," she nodded, her wide and cautious eyes locking with his and then falling away to find her way out of the chamber.

Father stepped close to the women as Catherine was pulling her hands away from her face. "Gwen?" she guessed.

"She's gone to look after the children," Father smiled at her.

"Poor little thing," she mumbled. "I probably scared her out of her mind."

"Nah," Lena grinned, "she's tough. She'll be all right."

"Are you getting restless, dear?" Mary watched Catherine's legs shift incessantly.

"Mm," she nodded. "Can I just get up and pace for a bit?"

"It's all up to you," Mary nodded and climbed off the edge of the edge of the bed. "Do you want help?"

"I've got her," Lena practically leapt forward, putting her shoulder under Catherine's, lifting her onto her feet. "I hope you realize," she began walking along with her friend, supporting her one arm, "that my being here means that I get first dibs on babysitting."

Catherine let out a labored chuckle, as she attempted to make her stiff joints move. "It's all yours," she smiled lazily.

* * *

><p>The girls' dormitory chamber was far quieter than Gwen was comfortable with. She scuffled her slippered feet on the carpet simply to create some sort of noise. Her left leg fell out of her grasp. And she slowly pulled it back up, her knees bending and meeting at her chest again. Gwen tipped her head backwards, shaking her curls away, and watched Mora, sleeping in the bed behind her.<p>

How were they all asleep? Three sets of bunk-beds, full of girls about her age and they were all lost to their own dreams. Couldn't they feel it? Didn't they know? Everything was about to change; the tension was like a dense fog, impenetrable. She wanted nothing more than to shake them all awake. 'Catherine's in labor and Vincent isn't here!' she desperately wished she could scream. She held her tongue. They didn't know. She had gotten Mora settled in bed without saying a word to any of them. Somewhere inside her, she didn't want them to know. She didn't want to hear their excitement or their dread. Not until she'd sorted herself out.

Everything was about to change. If the baby died, this time Catherine wouldn't recover. Everyone was very silently aware of this. Every moment of every day from now on would be tinted with all of the sadness she carried. And Vincent… two options were possible for him. Either he would take it as the final sign that he and Catherine were never meant to be and send her away (which was unlikely, though Gwen had heard it whispered among the adults) or; he would forever be oddly empty. Though he may not wallow, as Catherine was more prone to, he would always seem to be missing something. Some joy and sparkle in his eyes would be gone forever.

Everything was about to change. If the baby lived, everyone everywhere who ever knew or once met Vincent and/or Catherine would be hard-pressed to find the words to express their joy. Gwen imagined days of celebration and frantic messages, both by pipe and paper continually ringing the news. It would be made publicly known the first time that baby slept or sneezed or cried. And though the rest of the tunnels may be rejoicing with the mere thought of such a miracle, Gwen had to worry. Vincent and Catherine were everything to her. They were all she had to call parents. She wanted them for herself, and her siblings, desperately. If the baby lived, would Gwen fall by the wayside?

Everything was about to change, and Gwen gathered herself closer to guard herself against it.

"Gwen?" a small, groggy voice startled the girl. Samantha had woken up and was leaning over her top bunk, peering down at Gwen on the floor. "What are you doing up? You okay?"

"Yeah," Gwen shrugged and bit her lips It was as if opening her mouth and speaking suddenly made everything real for her, and she began to cry. "I'm okay. Go back to sleep."

Quickly, Samantha crawled out of the covers and down the steps to the floor. "What's going on?" she whispered, careful not to wake the other girls, while she knelt next to Gwen and put her arms around her.

Gwen sniffed hard and wiped her eyes, though her tears didn't completely stop. "I'm just worried, that's all," she shrugged. Samantha gave her a questioning look. "Catherine's having the baby." Samantha's hand went to her mouth. Gwen was a little amazed that she could look at someone her age and know that they had a much longer history with the woman she considered her mother. "I… I couldn't stay in there. I just couldn't," she vaguely explained quickly.

Samantha shook her head, hugging Gwen closer. "No!" she whispered emphatically. "I wouldn't either. Is she okay?" Gwen shook her head, beginning to bit on her nails now. "Did Father say if…" Samantha wasn't able to finish the question.

Gwen shrugged. "He just said they'd try really hard to save it."

Samantha stared wide-eyed at Gwen. Her gaze deepened as she did, watching her friend carefully. She dipped her head, a bit of shame in her own emerging question. "And… what happens if they _can_ save the baby?"

Gwen's hazel eyes snapped back to Samantha's, terror in such a perceptive question. But, she couldn't look long. Her friend already knew too much.

"Don't run away again," Samantha suddenly pleaded. Gwen glanced sideways. "Okay? Promise me?"

Gwen tucked the corner of her mouth into her cheek and nodded. "I promise."

* * *

><p>"Something's not right," Catherine spoke through grit teeth. "Something's wrong."<p>

"Everything looks beautiful, Catherine," Father assured from the end of the bed. "You're fully dilated. You can start pushing whenever you're ready, dear."

Catherine shook her head vehemently. "It's not right!" she insisted. "I can't! It's not right!"

"What isn't right?" Mary, gripped the knee that was automatically raising, but Catherine was forcing back down. "You have to describe it, dear."

"It's," a guttural cry interrupted her, her sweat and tears beginning to become indistinguishable. She simply shook her head while she composed herself somewhat. "It's wrong! I can't…" she gasped lightly, holding her breath against the pain. "Make it stop! We have to stop! Not without Vincent!"

"Catherine," Father called harshly from behind Mary, "you don't have a choice!"

"You're not alone, dearest," Mary called to her sweetly. "We're all here with you. You just have to trust us."

"I'm right here," Lena gripped Catherine's hand tighter, sitting on the bed beside her and facing away from Father and Mary. "I'm not going anywhere, Cath."

"I'm going to be sick," Catherine whined.

"No time for that," Mary chuckled softly.

"You've already been sick three times," Lena's eyebrows contorted and she grinned. "What else is left in there?"

Suddenly, Catherine's gaze came back and she fixed on a point on the ceiling. Lena lurched toward her slowly, while simultaneously stretching back to reach for the bucket she'd vomited in before. But, Catherine's breathing began to regulate, nothing labored, no signs of pain; absolute silence. Both Father and Mary began to lean toward her curiously as well.

Finally, Father called to her tentatively. "Catherine? Are you all-"

Catherine inhaled sharply, her eyes abnormally wide, and her shoulders and chest actually propelled upward off of the bed. She froze there, her mouth open, but no breath entering or leaving her body. Lena was the first to be frantic, calling to her friend, touching her face, demanding to know what was happening. Father and Mary went to step toward the pair, but a voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Catherine!" Vincent slid to a stop just inside the chamber, drenched in sweat and dirt.

Catherine suddenly lurched upward, her back arching sharply, and crying out in sudden pain. Father, Mary, and Lena's attention snapped back to the woman in their care; Lena, grappling for a more comfortable hold while Catherine seemed to be crushing her hand, and Father and Mary beginning to pass instruments and blankets between each other. No one had a spare moment to see Vincent strip off his top layer of clothing, leaving him only in thermals and bare feet. Lena saw him coming a split-second before he moved her aside and slid into the bed, his legs on either side of Catherine's, and his chest just beneath her head when she fell back against him. He wrapped his arms under hers, crossing just beneath her breasts. She immediately crossed her arms, her right hand falling over his right hand, her left over his left, and their fingers locking together as if they had been created to fit just so.

"Sorry we started without you," she gasped out, smiling involuntarily.

"This was for all of the times that dinner didn't wait for you, isn't it?" he teased, holding her tighter.

She chuckled between waves of pain, wishing silently that she was done and she could just lie against Vincent forever. The urge to push ran through her body and she held Vincent desperately. "I'm so afraid." Neither of them were sure if she had actually said it aloud. It didn't matter. She pushed and he moved in sync with her, breathing steadily against her. She dropped back into him. "I'm so afraid." Vincent tucked his face into her neck, nuzzling for a moment before beginning to straighten and kissing just below her ear. "I love you." She pushed again. The room was such a blur of sound that the noise began to fade into nothing. There was only breath and heartbeat and unspoken words carried on the current of the Bond.

"Almost there."

"Don't let go."

"You're amazing."

"I love you."

"So close."

"I'm so afraid."

"Hold tight now."

"Never let go."

In the numb nothing of sound surrounding Vincent and Catherine, the cries of a child broke through. Catherine dropped against Vincent, exhaustion ruling her body, hysteria ruling her mind as she laughed and cried uncontrollably.

Mary set the babe against the mother's chest, already partially swaddled. "It's-"

"A girl," Catherine and Vincent finished for her in unison.

Mary stepped away, her hands clasped at her chest, beaming at the perfect baby girl in her new parents' arms. Father wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her in and watching with just as much pride. After a moment, Mary looked down and found Lena sitting cross-legged on the floor, wiping angrily at the relentless waterfall of tears spilling down her cheeks.

Ten fingers, ten toes, a full head of midnight black hair, pure emerald colored eyes, five pounds and eight ounces; she was perfection. Her skin was already an olive tinge, and there was more of a flatness than a point to her nose; not enough to look abnormal, but noticeable. They swabbed and wiped and fussed over her, and she answered them with her strong set of lungs. And when everything began to hush around her, so did she, her heartbeat falling perfectly against her mother's. Her little head swung this way and that, and only her parents could see that those perfect green eyes were already so eager for knowledge.

"We never settled on a name," Catherine whispered, a single finger stroking the long black strands of hair.

"Layla," Vincent answered. He stroked the babe's spine as she nursed at Catherine's breast.

"Layla?" she questioned, twisting slightly; her first time seeing his eyes since he left the day before. "From the Persian poems?"

"Longed and longed for, and continually denied to the one who loved her most," he kissed Catherine's shoulder. "And here she is. Layla means, 'of the night'."

"Layla," Catherine tested the name, watching the indescribable perfection she'd helped create. "Hope," she found Vincent's gaze again. "Night of hope."

"Layla Hope," he nodded, agreeing and solidifying it.

"Catherine," Mary approached quietly, and the parents were suddenly aware that the room had completely dispersed. Only Mary was left of their helpers. "Are you cold, dear?"

If there were ever such a sensation, Catherine was sure she had never felt it. There was no cold. Everything was warm and safe and perfect. Vincent cradled her, and she cradled their daughter; Layla Hope. Cold was simply impossible. Catherine shook her head, smiling contentedly and burying her heavy eyes in Vincent's chest.

"A blanket would be fine, thank you, Mary," Vincent grinned at the sweet woman.

"Of course, Vincent," Mary whispered.

A soft blanket fell over the little family, and the elder woman tucked it around them comfortably. Catherine fell asleep to the sounds of Mary kissing Vincent and murmuring all of her pride and love. There was only warmth.

* * *

><p>Their names were being called, but they only shifted against each other. Another voice from some distant, far away land. Catherine tucked her face into Vincent, and he held her closer. The touch of a hand and another call. "Vincent? Catherine." They squirmed in each other's arms for a moment before their eyes peeled open.<p>

For a second, Catherine reveled in the warm embrace before something in her consciousness snapped and she lurched forward. "My baby!" she gasped.

"You're all right," Vincent was suddenly in her ear. "You're both safe." His grip relaxed when he felt her breathe easier. He quickly found the babe in her arms to be sure that he was right, and cupped her head gently.

"I'm so sorry to startle you both," Father's voice drifted to them.

"It's all right, Father," Vincent shifted, and Catherine with him. "What's the trouble?"

"No trouble," Father assured. "It's morning," he smiled, "and I have had three children in my study simply begging to see you for over an hour." He backed away to reveal Mora, Gwen, and Arthur all tip-toeing into the chamber. "Really," Father grinned, "you _must_ do something about them."

The couple's happiness seemed to radiate off of them as the children crept toward them, stopping at the edge of the bed and staring at the baby in wonder. "Hi," Catherine beamed at them, her eyes heavy, but her heart seemingly weightless.

The children could only stare, and Father wandered over to assist the conversation. "This one," he set his hands on Gwen's shoulders, "stayed up and waited for you all night."

Catherine sighed, her smile still lighting her face, and reached over with her free arm to take Gwen's hand. "Thank you so much, Guinevere. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"It must have been a bit frightening for you," Vincent added. "It certainly was for me," he pressed his lips into Catherine's hair quickly.

Gwen shrugged, finally taking her eyes off of the tiny, sleeping baby. "It was fine."

"Yeah," Catherine grinned, setting a knuckle under the girl's chin, "you're a tough nut."

"Not as tough as you!" Gwen shook her head assuredly.

Quickly, Mora released Gwen's hand and rushed to the opposite end of the bed. Much to the protests of her brother and sister, and the giggles of Catherine and Vincent, she climbed carefully onto the bed, and then crawled into the space between Vincent and the wall. Laughing, Vincent put an arm around her and let her meld against him, her dark hair spilling onto his shoulder. Quickly, she pointed to Catherine and the baby. "Pretty," she declared, her honest eyes watching him.

"Yes, they are," he nodded quietly.

Mora rested her head against him for a second, but then popped back up, her earnest and apologetic expression coming even closer. "You too!" she insisted.

Catherine brought that free arm over to rest on Mora's knee now, as she smiled up at Vincent. "Yes, he is."

"So," Gwen leaned back and forth, studying the babe, "a boy or a girl? You know, there are bets all over the tunnels about this?"

Catherine and Vincent smiled at each other, and then at Gwen and Arthur. "We've heard," Vincent assured dryly. "She's a girl."

"Her name is Layla. Layla Hope Wells," Catherine rocked her slightly.

"That's pretty," Gwen knelt by the bed, her arms folded on top, her chin set on them, peering at the baby.

Arthur dropped gently on the edge of the bed, tucking a leg up and watching Catherine and Gwen caress the tiny newcomer. "I guess I'm not the munchkin around here anymore, huh?" he tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but failed.

Catherine looked up, the corners of her mouth tucked into her cheeks, and looking, for the first time, as if she might cry. "Hey, you. Come here," she told him, patting the spot just at the end of the baby's feet. He slid over, and she immediately reached up to wipe a bit of dirt off of his face, her hand lingering there. "You are _always_ going to be my munchkin. She doesn't change that. Understand?" she waited until he nodded, and then looked around at each child. "She does not change how much we love you three. She is…" Catherine glanced down at the babe and smiled, "only an addition to our family. Agreed?" The children nodded with beaming smiles, and Vincent tucked his face into her hair and whispered, "Agreed".

Slowly, Gwen reached forward and ran her hand along the length of the blanket that encased the baby. "Layla," she played with the name, and then looked up at Vincent. "She looks like you."

Vincent shook his head, smiling and blushing. "She looks like Catherine."

"No, Vincent," Father suddenly called from the chair that he occupied nearby, "she is quite nearly the spitting image of you as an infant."

"She has Catherine's eyes," Vincent still insisted.

Catherine was suddenly running her hand along Vincent's leg, her amusement coursing through the Bond. "Give it up, dear. This won't be the last time you'll hear it, I'm sure."

Gwen squirmed forward, her sheepish eyes finding Catherine, and then quickly falling away. "Could I…? Would it be okay if…?"

"You want to hold her?" Catherine finished the girl's though, amused by the apparent difficulty of the question. Gwen nodded quickly. "Sure," Catherine nodded, and then began instructing. "Sit comfortably," Gwen relaxed back and folded her legs in front, "and just be mindful of her head."

Slowly, and ever so gently, little Layla was shifted and moving steadily toward Gwen's waiting arms. The world seemed to hold its breath until the babe was safely deposited, with her parents leaning close to be sure that she was secure. She was heavier than Gwen had expected for such a tiny thing, but her weight was like an affirmation of her reality, and Gwen adjusted to it quickly.

"Hi, Layla," she whispered and the baby stretched in her arms. "I'm Gwen."

"This is your big sister," Catherine added, still leaning close and watching them. "She's going to help look after you," she smiled at Gwen when the girl looked up with excitement and surprise.

"I am!" Gwen agreed, her gaze falling back on the baby, and she began to rock softly. "I'm going to look after you, and protect you, and make sure that no one ever tries to hurt you. I promise."

Layla opened her mouth, closed it, and stretched. She twitched in her sleep, her nose wiggling and the corners of her mouth pulling. 'Just like Vincent does,' Gwen giggled to herself. She was beautiful and new; brand new. There were no scars, physical or emotional. There were no fears at the mention of a name. She knew nothing and no one beyond the arms of the ones who held her; safe and loved. 'No one will ever harm you, or take you away,' Guinevere promised silently. 'You're a _real_ princess, and everyone loves you with all their hearts. This place, this moment… this is Camelot. And you and I, Layla…. we'll always be safe here.'

Finis


End file.
